The Damage of Neglect
by ThousandpercentDone
Summary: When the breakup leaves Blaine with nothing and no one - not even himself - left, who is he supposed to turn to? -Oh, by the way, I changed my username, don't get confused.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi! Okay, so I don't want to give away any spoilers, but I have to give warnings. I will write new ones for every chapter.  
This story is going to be a lot of angst and dark themes, so if you're sensitive to that kind of stuff, please look through the warnings and see if you should read this story or not, thank you :)  
It takes place right after the breakup between Blaine and Kurt, and focuses mainly on Blaine and his troubles and guilt. There will be other characters, too, mostly Kurt, Burt and some Rachel, too, I think. Maybe Finn and Sam. I haven't written the story yet, but I will post new chapters often.**

******I hope you'll enjoy! :)**

******WARNINGS: Depression, self-hatred, bullying, sexual assault, violence, drinking. Please do not read if any of these triggers you.  
Also, I don't own Glee or any of it's characters. Or any songs I may use in this story.**

* * *

"When love dies, the heart's ashes do not leave on the wind—they rest on the mantelpiece of the soul, darkening the sunrise we once saw to be beautiful."

- A.M Hudson.

Everything was dull. Everything was meaningless, and everything was grey.

Blaine Anderson walked down the halls of McKinley high school, looking at the different faces passing him, studied their happy and worry less expressions, imitating perfectly, looking just like he used to, with his head held high and a colorful bow tie adorning his shirt. But nothing was like it used to be. Everything had changed.

He wasn't walking with anybody, just like he hadn't been for the past days. He passed some lockers, and noticed Sam who was standing by his locker with Tina. He smiled brightly and knew it looked perfectly convincing. He'd been practicing it, only fucking it up once, when he auditioned for Grease, but luckily everyone had been much too focused on their own problems to confront him about it.

Sam smiled back, but not with much enthusiasm and it barely reached his eyes. He just looked like he was having gas pains or something, the same with Tina. Blaine had wanted to go over there, talk to them, maybe go to lunch with them, but he quickly changed his mind by the sight of their faces. ___They don't want you there. Just keep walking._

Ever since he and Kurt broke up, it had been like this. He had no idea how it got out, but when he came back to school, apparently everybody knew not only that they'd broken up, but also the ___reason _why they broke up. And this had changed everything. He ___cheated. _He cheated on the love of his life, and everybody knew. Not just the new directions, though, it was the whole school. Blaine had heard people talk behind his back.

___Cheater, _he heard. ___Slut. Whore._

And it was true, that was the worst part. Blaine knew that the words people spoke about him when he sat alone in the back of the cafeteria, walked the halls or sat in a class, were true. He was a slut. What other reason would there be for him to cheat?  
___You were alone, _a small voice in the back of his head told him, but he snorted to himself and quickly pushed it away. That was no excuse for what he'd done to Kurt.

Blaine passed another small group of the kids from new directions. These were new ones, Marley and Ryder. Both of them seemed really nice, and he'd actually gotten to know them pretty good in the first days of school, but he didn't bother smiling this time. Just like Tina and Sam, they just looked uncomfortable in his presence, and he didn't blame them. They didn't know Kurt, but the rest of the New Directions did, and if they were mad at Blaine, and they most certainly were, the new kids was split. Should they take Blaine's side, and go against their new group of friends?

Blaine didn't blame them for choosing the New Directions in the end. After all, why would they choose his side? They barely knew him, and from what they'd heard, people was mad at him because he cheated on their friend. That was a pretty good reason, right? Who would want to choose ___that _side, supporting a slut, a cheater?

No one. Blaine knew. He wouldn't want to choose his side either if he had the choice, but it was kind of hard to distance yourself. He wish he could, though. Even though he didn't show, he hated himself much more than anyone at McKinley could ever hate him.

So that was why Tina and Sam was acting so weird.  
Blaine never fully became apart of the New Direction family. Sure, people liked him and they'd hung out before, but he never quite felt like he had felt when with the Warblers. He'd transferred for Kurt. He only came to this school in the first place because he wanted to be with Kurt, and with him gone, Blaine felt like he didn't belong here. ___Anywhere_. In the beginning, the New directions was his friends, but then he and Kurt broke up, and even though he was still part of the Glee club, he was not part of the friendships in there anymore.

Tina and Sam hadn't abandoned him right away, like the rest of the club. In the beginning they were still there. They weren't ignoring him, but they weren't exactly comfortable with him, either, so after a few days he'd just stopped trying to be part of their friendship anymore. He knew that the rest of the Glee club didn't approve, and he wouldn't want to turn them against Tina and Sam, too, because of him. They were his friends. But they were both really close with Kurt, so their situation when they broke up because of Blaine was conflicting. Blaine had helped them. He'd simply stopped trying, and the two made no attempt of taking him back.

He was lonely. He would never admit it to anyone, 'cause he'd turned quite good at hiding his feelings over the years, but he was. When he was younger, he didn't have many friends. He was gay, had crazy hair and that, apparently, was enough for bullies to target him, making everyone else not want to be his friend.

At Dalton he'd had the Warblers, David, Wes and all the others, but most of them had graduated and was in other states, far away from Ohio. Blaine sighed.___Away from Ohio. _This was what ___he_ wanted. Not to be stuck in Ohio with no friends. If he could just take one more year here, he'd be able to go to college somewhere far away from his uncaring parents, who were always traveling anyway, and even though he'd never thought he'd wished this; far away from Glee, too. He always thought he ___did _belong here. Everyone used to be nice to him. But with Kurt gone, he didn't feel the way anymore. Especially not when everybody was ignoring him.

People here didn't know him. They knew Kurt's boyfriend, Kurt's accessory, and now that he couldn't bear that title anymore, he was nothing but 'Blaine Warbler.' But even that, he wasn't. He knew. He wasn't a Warbler anymore, half the kids in the Warblers didn't even know who he was. He couldn't even go back to Dalton. He didn't belong there anymore.

He'd never really thought about it like that when Kurt was there, but nobody at McKinley actually didn't know anything about him as a person. Kurt had. But Kurt wasn't there anymore, and Blaine wasn't the type of person who just opened up to ___anybody. _Kurt had earned his trust. Kurt had loved him. Kurt had understood, he'd held him when he'd been sad, kissed him when he was happy. Blaine had told Kurt everything, back when he still lived in Lima. Not that there was that much to tell, but Kurt was the only person besides his brother Cooper, who knew how neglected Blaine felt when it came to his parents. He hadn't even talked to Wes about it, even though the asian boy was one of his best friends. ___Was _one of his best friends___. _That, he'd left, too, for Kurt.

Blaine looked up slightly as he entered the cafeteria, scanning the room quickly. There was nobody there he knew too well. No one from Glee. He grabbed an apple in his hand and sat down at an empty table in the back of the cafeteria. He didn't even know why he bought the apple, he wasn't hungry. He'd pretty much lost his appetite since last saturday when he'd told Kurt about what happened with Eli. When he'd woken up the next day, Kurt had been sitting in the living room, waiting for him. He remembered, way clearer than he wanted to. He remembered every action, every last word they both had said before separating that damn morning. He closed his eyes, attempting to keep the horrible memory out, but it was too late.

The memory hit him like a wave, surrounded him.

* * *

___"Kurt?" Blaine asked carefully, as he noticed the hunching figure sitting in the lean chair by the shelf. Kurt was looking at his balled fists in his lap, and his eyes were red, Blaine noticed. It was as if an iron fist clenched around his guts. This was his fault. Kurt had been crying because of him. His own eyes were red as well, but he didn't pity himself. The burning feeling was good. He deserved it._

___"Blaine." Kurt's voice was quiet, broken. Blaine closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them again. His lip hurt from chewing on it all night. He didn't know what to say. He had no excuses.  
"Look, Kurt, I.." he stopped himself halfheartedly, thinking for a moment, before continuing. "I know I screwed up. I know that, but I don't know what to say besides I'm sorry. A-and I could say that a million times, and it wouldn't be enough.. I-I was lonely, and you weren't there and I just-"  
"What? You just what?" Kurt finally looked up with watery eyes, a world of pain dancing around in there. His voice was raised, the silence a shadow from before, but even though he sounded mad, it was still broken. "You just didn't think? It didn't mean anything?"  
"It didn't-" Blaine tried, but Kurt just laughed, a humorless laugh.  
"Do you think I care, Blaine?" he said, and it was Blaine's turn to look down at his feet. "You broke my trust. Relationships are about trust, and I don't trust you anymore."  
Smack. The words hit Blaine like a slap in the face, and he looked up at Kurt who was now standing, staring furiously at him with tears streaming down his face, with wide eyes. _Relationships are about trust, and I don't trust you anymore. ___Did that mean.. That they weren't in a relationship anymore?_

___Kurt slumped back into the comfy chair and rested his head in his hand, staring at the floor.  
"I think you should leave." His voice was low again. A silent whisper.  
"Kurt, please-"  
"Just leave, Blaine."  
The words stung, but it stung even more to see Kurt cry, knowing it was his fault, and Blaine slowly went and grabbed his jacket and bag. He'd already changed into his clothes before he went into the living room. He put on his shoes, not even bothering to gel his hair, and opened to front door. He turned around one last time, just in time to see Rachel who was now standing in the doorway from the other bedroom, staring at him, her arms crossed and lips pursed, waiting for him to leave. He went outside and closed the door, but not fast enough to not hear the heartbreaking sob from inside the apartment. Then he ran. He ran outside, the morning air cold against his skin, and was glad that this part of town was so deserted, for so nobody saw as he leaned his back against the wall, slumping down into a sitting position, where he curled his knees into his chest and tried to hold back his sobs. He couldn't._

* * *

Blaine opened his eyes again, and the first thing he noticed was the dampness on his cheeks. His eyes stung, and judging by the weird looks some people from another table near him was giving him, he was crying. He quickly wiped his eyes as he stood up, burning cheeks, and hurried out of the cafeteria, leaving the untouched apple on the table.

Damn it. He'd been so careful not to let people see. But pretending that nothing was wrong even though everything was, was getting harder.

He quickly went into the boys bathroom and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked awful. His attempt at covering the dark circles and bags under his eyes for not sleeping properly for days with makeup, was now ruined by his tears. There'd been a lot of those, apparently. He hadn't even noticed that he was crying before he came back to reality, but he had. A lot.

He washed his face and made sure that nobody was in there, before applying a new layer of makeup under his eyes, to cover up the heavy, dark circles. Then he smiled tentatively and he was back to his old self. On the outside, at least. His eyes were slightly red, but that would pass quickly.

He was startled when the bell rang, and quickly grabbed his bag. He hesitated with his hand placed on the knob as he remembered that it was time for Glee club, but shook his head. ___This is what you love Blaine. Performing. _But as he entered the choir room, he wasn't so sure of it anymore. Nobody looked up, except for some of the new kids, who quickly looked down again as they realized the other Glee clubbers didn't greet Blaine. People were still talking to each other, but not as freely as they were a minute ago, and many glanced at him as he walked past them. It was not like they meant to shut him out completely, but they did.

They were mad at him, because most of them had been Kurt's friends first, and they knew what Blaine had done to him, but they didn't address him with it. Because they liked Blaine, too, and they couldn't bring themselves to be mean to him like that. But he'd hurt Kurt, and that made them unsure of how to act towards him, so they mostly just ignored him. At least it was better than being shoved or called names like the rest of the school did.

He went across the room and took a seat in the back row in the far left. This way, there was an empty chair beside him and in front of him, and he didn't have to worry about anybody feeling uncomfortable. Besides himself, of course. But that didn't matter, as long as nobody could tell, he wouldn't have to worry. People shouldn't know how he felt inside. They shouldn't know about how he spent every night in the big, lonely house, curled up in his bed clenching the Margaret thatcher dog that Kurt gave him after the senior ditch day close to his chest, crying. They shouldn't know the regret he felt, they shouldn't know how he felt at all, because it was embarrassing and stupid and he deserved it. He deserved the constant pain in his chest and empty stomach, he deserved the rejecting voicemail that he received time after time when he tried calling Kurt, he deserved it all. It was his fault. ___He_ screwed up. And now that he didn't have Kurt to talk to, he had nobody to tell about it all. Kurt was his safe person, the only other person other than Wes and his brother he'd trusted fully in many years. He trusted Kurt and he didn't trust him back.

He had had Kurt, and he'd lost him. I was all his fault.

* * *

That night, Blaine was once again laying on his bed, listening to the playlist he and Kurt made, sobbing violently. He tried to slow his breathing down, but he couldn't. He felt his lungs craving for a proper inhale but he just couldn't, so he curled up tighter. It hurt. A snort escaped his nose as he thought about how stupid this was. Laying on his bed, crying and hugging a teddy bear. He felt like a child. But he couldn't help it.

When he finally slowed down his breathing, he sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and hand curled up in his unruly hair. He couldn't do this. Not tonight. He needed something, something ___stronger _than a teddy bear___._ He needed alcohol.  
___  
_He slowly stood up, and went into the bathroom where he quickly stripped off all of his clothes, before stepping into the shower. At first, the water was too cold, but he didn't care. He was focusing hard on not letting the tears escaping his eyes. He didn't want to cry anymore. The shower was quick, and when done, he stepped out and placed a towel on his hips. He quickly gelled his hair back, and went into his room again.

The floor was cold against his bare feet as he walked across the room to his drawer, and found a pair of boxers that he quickly pulled on. Then he picked out a random shirt and a pair of pants, without even bothering to match them. There was nothing extraordinary about this outfit, nothing special. Just a black, tight tee shirt and a pair of denim pants. It's not like he needed to impress or fool anyone with his looks tonight, he was just going to a bar, no biggie. He grabbed his bag and hurried downstairs and out of the door, putting on his jacket and shoes quickly before closing it behind him. The night air was cold, and he checked his phone. 10:30 pm. It wasn't that late, but he didn't care, either way. He wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, and the pain was just worse tonight. He needed alcohol, he needed to forget, just for tonight.

He walked down the three steps in front of the door, followed the brick path to the road and went into the silver car parked by the sidewalk. The garage was reserved for his parents cars, even though they were parked in the airport more often than in there, while the two of them went on expensive vacations and business trips. Blaine sighed, and turned the key. The engine purred. His father bought him this car, is if to make up for him never being home. ___Stop it, Blaine. That's their lives, there's nothing you can do about it.  
_  
He didn't drive for long until he reached the bar he'd been searching for; Scandals. The one he, Sebastian and Kurt went to. When he got drunk and pressured Kurt and they'd fought. He pulled into the parking lot and parked the car, and suddenly, as he turned off the engine, memories from the night after overflowed him; when they'd made up, went to Blaine's house and finally done it. It had been so amazing, they were both so vulnerable and insecure. But they had been good. Kurt had been good. He didn't need anything but his love to to be good enough for Blaine, and there had been plenty of that. He remembered Kurt's pale skin against his own, his gentle fingers searching Blaine's body, giggling in his ear, whispering his name.. ___Stop. He's not here. Don't think about it. He doesn't want to be with you like that ever again, you screwed it up, you ruined it all, you shared that special thing with somebody else, god you idiot-_

Blaine bumped his head into the steering wheel, groaning. His mind just wouldn't shut up tonight. He definitely needed some alcohol, and most likely very soon.

* * *

"Hey there, babe," somebody said behind Blaine, placing their hand gently on his shoulder, making him flinch and almost spill the beer in his hand. He was sitting at a bar stool at the desk, his hand messing up his hair, but he didn't care. He didn't even know why he'd bothered to gel it, he didn't come tonight to look good. He turned around.

"Um, hi?" he said, and frowned. The man in front of him was probably in his mid twenties, brown, short hair, was tall and had a charming smile. He was quite good looking. Blaine didn't know why this stranger was talking to him, and frankly, he didn't want to know either, good looking or not.

"You look pretty miserable." ___Oh really?, _Blaine thought sarcastically to himself, but kept it in his mind.

"I'm not," he just snapped, turning around. He didn't come here to talk about his feelings. He came here to be able ___not _to think about things for once, but even though the music was so loud you could barely hear your own voice, the alcohol hadn't taken any effect at all, and his thoughts still wouldn't leave him alone. ___Great, just great. Last time, you had one beer, okay maybe a few, and you got so drunk your boyfriend - ex boyfriend, Blaine – wouldn't talk to you, and now that you need it, you can't. Amazing._

"Hey, I'm not trying to be an ass or anything," the man continued, and leaned his elbow on the desk still looking at Blaine, who rolled his eyes. "Okay, you don't want to talk. Fine. How about I buy you something stronger, then? That wont do much," he said, pointing at the beer in Blaine's hand. Maybe he ___should _try something stronger. He hadn't really thought about that.

"Uh, I-yeah.. Thanks." He smiled at the man, his bad mood vanished suddenly. The man smiled back, and said something to the bartender Blaine didn't get because of the loud music. "Oh, and I'm sorry for snapping at you.. I just-"

"Hey, you, don't worry," the man passed on whatever the bartender just gave him to Blaine, and cocked his head. "I'm Jeremy, by the way."

"Oh, uh, Blaine," Blaine said, and took a sip of the drink. He immediately made a face; it tasted disgusting. Jeremy laughed, and shook his head at Blaine, who turned red.

"That's not how you do it. Just chug it down."

Blaine lifted the glass to his mouth and turned it upside down so the liquid flowed into his mouth and down his throat. It still tasted like gas or something, but at least he only had to chug one time instead of taking a billion sips.

"Wow, you're good," Jeremy said, and raised his eyebrows, chuckling. "Want one more?" He probably shouldn't, Blaine knew, after all tomorrow was thursday and there was school as usual, but wasn't that what he'd come here for, anyway? To forget?

And Jeremy seemed like a nice guy, so he just nodded and accepted the drink that was being handed t him.

* * *

An hour and four glasses of what-the-fuck-ever later, Blaine found himself on the dance floor with Jeremy, drunk as hell. He'd completely forgotten about school, his parents and Kurt with help from the alcohol, and he felt good for once. Maybe he and Jeremy were dancing a little bit too close, but he didn't mind. It was the first time in a long time he felt wanted. He didn't feel alone.

Even when he and Kurt were still dating, they hadn't been together much, other than over Skype. And when they finally were, all they did was talk about Kurt, hang out in Kurt's apartment and at Kurt's job when he was just too busy to give Blaine proper company. This was much better, Blaine told himself. How Jeremy was looking at him, his lips, like he was the sexiest thing alive, how Jeremy offered him drinks and grabbed his butt when they were dancing close.

Normally, Blaine would've never agreed to dance this close to a stranger or exchange dirty talk in a gay bar, but this time he didn't mind. For the first time in a long time he felt wanted, and the alcohol and loud music kept his thoughts out, so when Jeremy asked him to take it somewhere else, he said yes. ___"I want it, Jeremy."  
_  
Blaine, who was a lot more affected than Jeremy, stumbled his way to the parking lot, where Jeremy helped him into some black car. His car.

"Come on," he said, chuckling at Blaine's clumsiness. "Sit straight, theere you go!" and then he closed the door to the backseat, and Blaine leaned his warm cheek against the cold window. It felt good.

Jeremy got in the drivers seat in front, turned on the car and started driving. Outside, blurry landscapes passed by, but Blaine couldn't really make out what they were driving past.

It was dark, and everything mingled because he was seeing double, so he looked away, confused by it, and looked at his hands. They were shaking slightly. Blaine giggled, because it looked funny, and lifted his hand to show Jeremy, but he didn't look when Blaine called his name.

"Jeremy? Jerremyyy look at my hands! They're ___shaking," _he mumbled, laughing at the tiny muscle spasm. Jeremy still didn't look. "Jerrremy, look," he tried again, but still no answer. The drivers gaze was focused on the road. "Jerem-"

"Shut up!"

Jeremy was shouting. He was ___shouting. _Blaine didn't understand. What did he do? Jeremy was nice. Jeremy didn't shout. "Jeremy, wha-"

"Shut up, I said!" Jeremy was still shouting, but his voice had changed.

Blaine shut up immediately. Suddenly he didn't feel so safe anymore, there in the car with Jeremy. Jeremy's new voice was scary. It wasn't at all like the nice Jeremy, the Jeremy from Scandals who was nice and flirty and charming. This Jeremy was frightening. Why was he even here with Jeremy? Oh right, they were ___moving it. _Wait, moving it? Was he going to have sex with Jeremy?

Suddenly it was as if Blaine woke up from a dream, realizing where he was, and he shook his head, trying to sort out his thoughts. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to get out of this car, back to his house. He was relieved when Jeremy pulled over to the side of a road, thinking that he could probably tell what Blaine was thinking, and that's why he'd shouted; because he was disappointed.

They were on a dark road with only few lights, and there was a tiny parking lot where Jeremy parked the car and pulled the engine.

"Oh, thank god Jeremy, listen," Blaine started, relieved. His voice was slurred and it was hard to get the words out right, but not as hard as it was a minute ago. He was glad Jeremy understood. "I can't do this. I'm so sorry, but I haven't quite gotten over my last boyfriend, I don't really think I'm ready for a rebound just yet, and It's been a while since last time I.." Blaine's voice faded, as Jeremy turned his head, and looked at Blaine. He looked weird, a hungry look in his eyes like he was a lion looking at a prey. He smiled at Blaine; a weird, cold smile.

"Oh you don't have to be ready," he said and laughed; an unpleasant laugh.

Blaine shivered. He could sense something was wrong. He didn't understand what Jeremy was saying. Then suddenly, Jeremy pushed his own seat forward making more room in the back, and started crawling into the back of the car, where Blaine was sitting. "Jeremy, wha-"

"Shut up, you little slut." Blaine's eyes widened. He didn't like this. Why was Jeremy talking like this? He tried opening the door, but to his frustration, it was locked.

"W-what are you doing?" he asked, voice high pitched, as Jeremy pushed him harshly into a laying on his back, straddling him.

"Jeremy, what are you doing?!" Blaine's voice sounded panicked now, and he tried to push the other boy off him, but Jeremy held his hands and body tight. He laughed again, sending shivers down Blaine's spine.

"Oh, you're way to drunk to even resist. This is gonna be a lot of fun." Jeremy's voice was harsh and unfriendly. Blaine's heart started pounding loudly and fast, and once again he tried to push Jeremy off of him, but the man was just too strong.

"Get off me!" Blaine shouted, struggling to escape from the mans grip, but with no luck. "Get off!" he screamed again, this time louder, and Jeremy looked annoyed.

He freed his right hand, and with that, he grabbed something in his bag. Blaine couldn't quite make out what it was, but he kept struggling as the man placed it around his wrist with a 'click'. Then there was another click, and Blaine looked at his right hand, noticing that Jeremy had handcuffed it to the door handle.

Blaine's breathing became faster and he started screaming again. He was stuck. He couldn't get his hand out of the handcuff, and Jeremy was on top of him. He felt claustrophobic, like the car was getting smaller, the air thinner.

"Please! PLEASE!" He shouted again, tears forming in his eyes, as Jeremy slapped him hard across the face. He whimpered in pain. "Jeremy, don't do this! Please, somebody! ANYBODY!"

"Oh god, would you shut up you fucking cocktease. There's nobody here. God, shut UP!" But Blaine didn't shut up. He kept screaming and struggling, and he could've kept on all night, but then Jeremy twisted his body around, so he was sitting on his knees and his shoulder were bend in a unnatural way.

It cracked loudly, and he screamed out in pain, begging for it to stop. But the pain didn't stop. Jeremy didn't release the handcuff, which was now gnawing into his skin. His shoulder stayed this way, as Jeremy bend over him, opening his belt buckle. "You'll love it, you little slut," he whispered into Blaine's ear. "You will, because you asked for it, didn't you?"

He pulled down his own pants, and then Blaine's. The air inside the car was humid and warm on his bare skin, but Jeremy's hands were cold as he placed them on Blaine's hips, under his shirt. He grabbed harshly, turning his knuckles white, piercing his nails into Blaine's skin.

This was wrong. This was so wrong. This was nothing like how it'd been with Kurt. Kurt's hands had been gentle, warm and slightly shaking from excitement and nervousness. They'd been hesitant, waiting for Blaine's concede and approval of what he was going to do. He'd been so gentle and sweet. It had been love. This wasn't love. This wasn't how it should be. "Stop, please!" he screamed, tears in his eyes from the pain in his shoulder that just kept going on.

"Jeremy, I don't want this! Stop!" Jeremy stopped for a moment wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and chuckled again, as he carried on.

"Oh, but you told me you did, Blaine. Can't take it back now, can we." Then way too quickly, he shoved his hard on into Blaine, who screamed out in pain. It had been so long. He and Kurt hadn't done it in awhile, and this man was way bigger than Kurt, way bigger than a normal size, and it ___hurt. _He didn't even use the lube, he just shoved, time after time and groaned in pleasure as Blaine moaned and cried out in pain. He blacked out for a moment, only to wake up to the same horrifying reality seconds later.

It felt like it would go on forever. Jeremy touching him in placing he shouldn't touch, shoving his dick down his throat while he cried and gagged, leaving bruises and marks all over his body, twisting his shoulder even more, and ignoring Blaine's screams, sometimes responding with terrible words. Blaine stopped screaming. He knew that no one would hear him. They were in the middle of nowhere, and there was no one here on a tuesday night.

Then finally, when he felt like he would die if he had to take any more, Jeremy stopped, panting and leaning over Blaine, who could easily smell the alcohol in his breath. His own probably smelled like that, too. Jeremy pulled both their pants up, not bothering to zip them, and turned Blaine over again, so his shoulder was back in a normal position. It hurt even worse than when it was twisted in the first place, and it gave another loud crack as the dislocated bone was forced back in it's socket. Blaine screamed again, but his voice was hoarse and it didn't have much force.

"Thanks a lot, god, you little bitch." Jeremy's slurring voice and heavy panting filled his ears, and Blaine wanted nothing but to get away from the other person, far, far away. "That was so fucking good." It wasn't. It wasn't it wasn't it ___wasn't! _It was wrong! This wasn't supposed to be like this! This was supposed to be romantic, not painful and wrong. This was all sweat and blood, and it just felt like he'd been attacked by an animal, eaten alive. Only worse.

But Blaine didn't think about it. He didn't think. He couldn't. He just ___hurt. Everywhere._

"Now, there's no need to tell your little friends or your parents, is there?" Jeremy asked him in a parenting voice. ___What friends? What parents? _"They'd just go around telling other people. And we don't want people to know about this, Blaine. This is private. You asked for this, remember? And what does that make you, huh?" He breathed heavily, and leaned closer to Blaine, who stared frightened back into his eyes, shaking his head as if he didn't know. He didn't want to hear it.

"I'll tell you. A slut. That makes you a whore, Blaine. And we don't want people knowing, do we?" Blaine shook his head again with his last strength, and stuttered out a "No". Of course he didn't want people knowing. Not about this. They already thought he was a whore, this would just make everything worse. This was filthy and disgusting and wrong and-

"Good. Now get the fuck out." Jeremy's voice brought him back to reality, as he unlocked the door. Blaine, who was leaning against it, stumbled out backwards, and landed painfully on his arm. He screamed in pain again, grabbing shoulder and rolling to the other side, but nobody came to help him. Of course not. He heard something else being thrown out from inside the car, then the door shut loudly, and the black volvo drove away. Blaine looked after it, as it drove in the same direction they'd come from, the red lights on the back fading slowly. Then he shut his eyes close, groaned and curled into a ball, panting and gasping to inhale properly. He lay like that for several minutes, maybe an hour, he didn't know. But it felt like years.

Then, when he'd managed to slow down his breathing, he looked to his right. His bag was thrown carelessly a couple of feet away, and he crawled to the place, opening it, searching for something. He found it; his phone.

Sitting up, holding up his elbow to prevent his arm from moving, he typed in the only number he knew; Kurt. Who else would he call? His brother was in Europe, working on some big film production, and Wes was in Cali, besides, they were not the persons he wanted to talk to.

He wanted Kurt. Kurt was the only person he could talk to right now. He trusted Kurt, he ___needed _Kurt. ___But Kurt doesn't need you_.

It went to voicemail after about two rings, and he felt the tears starting to run down his cheeks as Kurt's voice rang in his ears; "___Hello, this is Kurt's voicemail, I'm not available for the moment, so please leave a messa-" _Blaine turned it off, typed the number again and dialed. "___Hello, this is Kurt's voicemail, I'm not available for the mo-" _A sob escaped Blaine's lips, and he clutched the phone as the tears started falling to his lap. "Please Kurt, please please please, I need you, pick up," he chanted, as he dialed for the third time. It went to voicemail. He tried again. And again. And again, getting rejected every time.

But then suddenly, as he dialed the number for the seventh time, someone picked up.

"Hello?" someone on the other end said, but Blaine couldn't quite hear because of his own sobs drowning out the voice. ___Oh thank god. He picked up. _He stopped crying immediately, swallowing a lump, and with a broken voice he asked; "K-Kurt?"

Someone sighed on the other end. "No, Blaine, this is Rachel." ___Rachel. _That was okay. If she was there, Kurt was there.  
"Listen, you've got to stop calling him! You can't keep pressuring him like this! He's not-"

"Please Rachel, I don't know where I am," He started___._

* * *

Rachel and Kurt had been sitting together, watching breakfast at Tiffany's, when Kurt's phone had suddenly rung. The tune teenage dream played loudly from the kitchen counter where he'd left it earlier, and Rachel sighed.  
"Kurt, I told you to turn it – Kurt, what's wrong?" she suddenly asked, when she noticed Kurt's expression; he looked like he'd seen a ghost. Then he sighed.

"I...That's Blaine's ringtone," he answered, and looked down.

"Oh."

It kept ringing, until it went to voicemail, none of them bothered to get up. Then Rachel smiled at Kurt, and snuggled in closer to him, when it suddenly rang again, same ringtone.

"Okay, just a second," she said, got up, and pressed the red button in the down-right corner. "There," she said, as she settled back onto the couch with Kurt. But the other boy didn't seem to relax.

"Kurt, are you okay?" Kurt just looked at her and shook his head. His eyes were filled with tears. "Oh, come here," Rachel said, and pulled him into a hug, pausing the television. It got interrupted, though, by the phone ringing for the third time.

"Doesn't he get a hint?" she grunted, as she got up again, and pressed the red button for the second time. Kurt snorted, but smiled slightly. "How do you turn off the sound?" she asked, annoyed. "Kurt, I can't figure out this phone."

"It's an I-phone, Rachel, everyone can figure it out."

"Well, not me, apparently."

"Come here," Kurt said, and made room for her on the couch again.

Just as he was about to turn of the sound, it rang again. The text "Blaine :)" and a picture of a smiling Blaine popped up on the screen, and Kurt flinched slightly. He pressed deny with much more force than necessary. Then he turned the sound off, and placed it on the coffee table. Rachel turned to him.

"Why is he calling?"

"Dunno, maybe to apologize?" Kurt snapped, sudden anger filling him.

"Hey, I'm not the one to be mad at here. Besides, hasn't he already apologized like a thousand times?"

Kurt sighed. "I'm sorry, Rachel. Yes, he has, but he doesn't get that I'm not ready to talk yet." As if on que, the screen lit up again, the same text and picture. "He calls me a lot, but never like this. You know, he usually stops after about three denied calls."

He pressed the screen, again a little too violent, and it turned black. "I just.. I'm not ready to forgive him, or even talk to him, and he doesn't get it."

"I know, Kurt. And it's not fair of him to be pressuring you like that, calling you all the time, but this must be hard on him, too." The phone vibrated again, but this time Kurt didn't even bother to turn it off.

"Hard on ___him?" _he squealed, disbelieving. "Rachel, he cheated. ___He _cheated on ___me. _I think that I have the right to be mad at him!"

"Yes, yes of course!" Rachel threw her hands in the air in defeat, raising her eyebrows. "I'm not saying you should forgive him, Kurt. Just think about his situation, too. This is not easy for him. I've been there." Kurt rolled his eyes, but inside, he knew that she was right. It was just so much easier being mad at Blaine.

The phone which had stopped ringing, suddenly lit up again and vibrated on the table. ___'Blaine :)'._

"Allright, that's it," Rachel said, and grabbed the phone as she stood up.

"Wowowow, wh-what are you doing," Kurt asked with wide eyes, trying to snap the phone but it was too late. Rachel was up, ready to press the green button. "I'm going to tell him a thing or two." Then she pressed 'accept call', under many protests from Kurt, and rose it to her ear, shushing him.

"Hello?" she asked, and frowned as she heard gasping and choking on the other end, that stopped immediately as she spoke.  
"K-Kurt?" It was definitely Blaine, no doubt, but he sounded so.. so weird, like he'd been crying or something. She wanted to ask him if he was okay. She wanted to help him with whatever was wrong, but she couldn't.

Both because she was living with Kurt who wanted nothing to do with him, but also because she was still mad at him for doing what he did, herself. She was being dragged in two completely different directions, and she didn't know which one to choose. Right now the anger towards his actions weighed the heaviest. She sighed.

"No, Blaine, this is Rachel. Listen, you've got to stop calling him! You can't keep pressuring him like this! He's not-" ___ready to talk to you, _she wanted to say, but Blaine cut her off before she got the chance to.

"Please Rachel, I don't know where I am."

Don't know where he is? What does that even mean? Rachel wanted to laugh, snort, but there was something about it, something about his voice that wasn't right, something that gave her apprehension, made her feel like there was something completely ___wrong _going on here.

"You don't know where you are? What do you mean?"

She heard him swallow at the other end. "Rachel, p-please put on Kurt I need to talk to-"

"No." Her voice was icy and demanding. She was not going to let him talk to Kurt before she knew what this was.

"You can talk to me or no one at all." She heard him swallow the lump in his throat again, and take in a shaky breath. She waited impatiently, tapping her foot against the wooden floor.

"I-I don't know where I am," he said again, but seemed to want to continue the sentence this time. "I-I was at this bar, a-and I went with this guy in his car, and he drove and I don't know wh-which direction and he-he started taking off my clothes in the car and I-" What? ___What?! _Was he really calling to tell her about ___that? _No, worse, he was calling to tell ___Kurt _about it!

"Wow! No! Stop!" Rachel cut him off quickly, her eyes widening. "Blaine are you ___drunk?" _She sighed as she realized that she was right. His voice was slurred and he sounded like he was having trouble getting the words out right, and she felt stupid for thinking that something was actually wrong.___"_I don't want to hear juicy details! That is so low of you to call him to tell-"

"Rachel, please listen-" a weak voice responded, sounding as if he was about to cry, but now that Rachel knew that he was drunk, she just blamed it on the alcohol. She no longer had the urge to ask him what was wrong. He was just drunk and being a dick, that was what was wrong. And she wouldn't let him.

"No, now you listen to me." she said, lifting her finger even though the other boy couldn't see it through the phone. "You can't do this. You can't just call Kurt to tell him about some other guy you hooked up with, just because you're drunk and need someone to let your frustration out on. Look, I get it. I get that you regret what you did, but this is no way of making up for it, Blaine! Kurt is hurting, because of you! Now don't make it worse by giving us all the details about your new sex life-" she heard a held back sob behind her, and turned.

To her horror, Kurt was sitting with his knees bend into his chest, hands clasped tightly over his mouth, eyes wide and wet. She realized her mistake.  
"And now he's crying, thanks to you. Great job. Don't call again, Blaine."

It was harsh, she knew. But seeing that look on Kurt's face just made her loose it. She was angry at him, and she had the right to be if her assumptions were right, but when she thought it over again, maybe she shouldn't have hung up so quickly. Maybe there was more to the story. Maybe her assumptions ___weren't_right. ___I'll call some other day, _she thought to herself. ___Right now Kurt needs me._

* * *

Blaine could really use someone when the conversation ended, too, though. Rachel apparently tried to hang up the phone, but didn't succeed, and Blaine ended up hearing weakly what was happening on the other line.

He could hear Kurt; sobbing, and Rachel comforting him, and soon he had to hang up himself. He couldn't take it. He couldn't take knowing that Kurt was sad because of him, that Kurt was now crying because of him.  
___It was Rachel, _a voice in his head told him. ___She just assumed, she made him believe that you had sex with someone. It's not your fault._

But he ___did_ have sex with someone, didn't he? He asked for it in the first place. Even though he told him to stop, he was the one who asked for it, and Rachel had every right to be mad at him, Kurt, too.

He weakly threw the phone back into his bag, and curled up into himself on the ground once again. The crying finally came. He was shaking violently from the sobs and every now and then a moan from the pain escaped his lips. It didn't matter, there was no one there, anyway. Everything hurt. The tears streamed down his face and he didn't even bother to wipe them away, he just lay there.

He wasn't thinking about what had just happened yet, though. He couldn't. He simply couldn't let in the thoughts, the remnants of the events in the car, into his mind. But he quickly got up on all four as he vomited, when he accidentally sniffed in through his nose, and the stench from the stuffy car was still there. He kept sniffing and vomiting again and again until the stench was not there anymore, and was replaced with the nice smell of pine trees and pavement.

Then he slowly stood up, clutching the lamppost by his side like it was his only lifeline. His legs were shaking and trembling beneath him from exhaustion and pain, but he managed to keep himself standing upright, and bowed down carefully to pick up his bag. He noticed a big red spot on the pavement he'd just been sitting on, and realized that the back of his pants were wet as well from the blood. There went his chance of hitchhiking.

He slowly started walking, one step at a time, each one of them hurting just as bad as the next, but he had to do this. They didn't drive ___that _long to get there. At least he told himself so, so at least this last string of hope would remain.

___You can make it, _he told himself___. _But everything hurt. His whole body hurt so bad, especially his shoulder, and soon it felt like it just couldn't take any dangling or bumping anymore. With his eyes only half open and filled with tears of pain, he grabbed a spare shirt that he kept in his bag, tied a knob as good as he could over his bad shoulder and placed his elbow in the improvised sling. It was already so much better. It still hurt like crazy, but at least now it wasn't moving around all the time, and it made it easier to move forward, towards to city.

He walked for what felt like hours, and it probably was, too, until he could finally see the outer lining of a parking lot. A little further down the road, the purple 'Scandals' sign was flashing on and off, slowly. It was losing power and getting duller for the night.

He'd never been more relieved to see his car as he approached it, unlocking it with his electric key a little distance away from it, but he didn't feel ___happy_ that he'd finally made it there. Happy was the last word he'd use to describe how he felt right then.

The ride home was quiet. Of course, he was by himself, but normally he'd listen to some music or sing. Tonight he didn't bother. He needed all his focus to just concentrate on staying awake despite his pains and tired body and eyes.

When he finally made it to the Anderson house, everything just looked so familiar, and it was weird. Because as Blaine walked the exact same brick path and the exact same steps he had been a couple of hours ago, he didn't at all feel like he did back then. Everything had changed.

His mind was already starting to blur and not make sense, as he dragged himself up the stairs to his bedroom.

He didn't remember stumbling the last distance from his doorframe to his bed, but somehow he managed to get there, before he lost grip of consciousness completely, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

******A/N: Okay, so there is a slight change in the story (nothing important, though) just that Blaine's birthday is in November in this instead of January. Like I said, not very important, but it needs to be.  
Also, thank you so much for the reviews of the first chapter! It really meant a lot, made my day(s). I absolutely love reviews, both sweet ones and constructive criticism, and I would be grateful if you would tell me if you liked the story or not, and why if you didn't. I'll try to fix it. This is my first story, so I don't know if I'm doing it right, but I sure hope I am! Anyway, thank you **_**so much **_******for the reviews.**

**Also, there will not be that much Blaine in this chapter. There is in the beginning and in the ending, but in order to keep the suspense, most of this chapter, though it's all ****__****about ********Blaine,******** is written from Finns and Burt's perspective. But don't worry, we'll hear Blaine's angle to it all in the next chapter (which I'm already working on)**

******WARNINGS: Depression, self-hatred, bullying, sexual assault, violence, drinking, drugs. Please do not read if any of these triggers you.****  
********I don't own Glee or any of it's characters or any songs I may use in this story.  
**

* * *

The first thing Blaine noticed as he opened his eyes, was the unbearable pains in his shoulder. Not the sunlight already bathing his room in golden light, not the sound of early birds twittering outside. He whimpered and carefully rolled to his good side, grasping shoulder gently with his other hand. It was twisted in a weird way, and he could feel something hard against his hand, through the fabric of his shirt. Oh god, was that his bone?

He shut his eyes tightly. His hair was dripping from sweat and for some reason his body hurt. Everywhere.

After awhile he slowed his breathing down, and the pain in his shoulder soothed enough for him to actually notice anything else. And he did. He noticed how his wrist had a weird mark on it, a round circle cut into his skin from something, he noticed how his mouth had a weird taste in it, and he noticed how his pants felt unusually weird. All raspy against his skin, like something had been spilled all over his butt and dried. Because it was just there, on the back of his jeans. It was weird.

Cautiously, he turned his head slightly over his shoulder and lifted the carpet, only to throw it right back down. He was petrified in his position. Even though the carpet was now covering it again, the picture of a big, red spot of blood on his bed sheet was still printed in his thoughts, in his blurred vision and unclear mind. Everything turned.

Suddenly, memories from the night before flowed over him, hit him like a tsunami crashing on the shore, and his stomach twisted and turned. He remembered.

He remembered everything. Jeremy. He remembered Jeremy's tight grip on his waist, he remembered the pain, both physically and psychologically, he remembered his pounding on the locked door while he cried and cried from the pain for someone, just _anyone, _to come help him and nobody did, he remembered the heavy panting while Jeremy whispered hoarsely in his ear what a good little slut he was, how tight he was, what he was going to do to him next-

Blaine quickly rolled over to the side of his bed, ignoring the unbelievable pain and pounding in the shoulder that he was now laying on, and vomited onto the floor. He kept going for several minutes, four times emptying his stomach, while he hugged it tightly, as if trying to sooth the pain inside, both caused from his stomach, but also the suddenly tight feeling in his chest.

He didn't cry, though. His breath just once again got completely out of control, and he needed to focus hard to get it back to normal. When he finally managed to, and when he was sure he wasn't going to throw up anymore, he rolled back on to his back and shut his eyes, a wrinkle to keep out the headache and the thoughts appearing on his forehead.

About half an hour later, he opened them again. He wouldn't be able to sleep right now, no matter how tired he was, so he wouldn't bother to try. The thoughts and memories he'd managed to drive away for now.

He sat up, and looked over the edge of the bed, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the vomit. He'd really have to do something about that. But not now. He had to get out of these clothes, he had to clean himself, he had to shower off all this dirt and filth _right now._

Suddenly, as he slowly realized what was on him, still on his _body, _everything else seemed unimportant and insignificant, he had to get out. His clothes were strangling him, keeping him in this cocoon of dried blood, tears, memories, sweat and the feelings of things he wouldn't mention, not even in his mind. He wasn't strong enough. Just the thought of thinking about it made him nauseous again.

He stumbled clumsily out of bed, grasping tightly around his right elbow, preventing it from moving around and hurting even more, as he near ran to the bathroom. Here, he let go of his arms, groaning loudly as it hang loose, but he didn't do anything about it. He had to get out of these clothes, _now._

His breathing was faster than it should be again, and quickly became hyperventilation as he realized that he couldn't take of his shirt without moving his arm. And moving it would be way to painful.

He lifted his good arm, placing his hand in his unruly hair as he walked around the room, frustrated and panicking, trying to think of a way. But his thoughts weren't clear. Everything was turning and was blurry.

Then he noticed a shiny blade on the desk; a yellow scissor, that he'd left there when he'd cut off a bothering tag that was still on his shirt yesterday. He quickly grabbed it, with shaking hands, and quickly sliced open his the piece of fabric in the front, so he could take it off just like a cardigan or a vest. Then he zipped open his jeans, which took a lot of effort considering his hands were shaking uncontrollably and he was working much too fast, but finally he was just in his boxers, which he pulled down quickly. All this time, he didn't look in the mirror. He wasn't ready, not for that, especially not before he got cleaned up.

He almost fell into the shower as his shaking legs managed to bear him there, and just managed to turn on the water before he collapsed against the cold wall, sliding down at the tile floor, which was warm due to the heating system.

Here he just closed his eyes again, leaning his head against the brick wall as his shakes stilled, and tried to keep out the thoughts. He wouldn't think. What good would it do, anyway? His thoughts weren't right. They told him to do something about this, they told him to think rationally and pity himself, but how could he, when he was the one who asked for it?  
He was worthless, and he didn't deserve any better than this.

* * *

Finn was not stupid. He might not be very intelligent, but he was never stupid. He'd always seen things a different way than other people did, so when Blaine started acting differently, he noticed.

It was not very much, just this little twitch in his upper lip sometimes, a brief shadow of sorrow and regret in his eyes sometimes. He was quieter than he used to be, didn't come up with any ideas, stayed in the background. Little things, that people normally wouldn't notice. But Finn did. Only thing was, he didn't know why Blaine acted like this, and he'd never been very good at actually _handling it very well when other people were sad or something_, so he had no idea what to do.

He wasn't in Glee club, he was just directing the musical for the moment, so he wasn't really hanging that much out with the kids in school, because it was kind of weird when he'd already graduated, but when he'd started to notice these changes in behavior from Blaine, he'd gone to investigate a little, and it turned out things weren't as well in Glee as he thought they were.

At first Blaine had seemed fine; maybe a little torn from the breakup, like the time he broke down in front of him and Artie at his Grease audition, but he smiled, talked and acted just like he used to, except for those little changes, of course, when he was with Finn.

But in the hallways, things sure didn't seem fine. Finn had, subtile, of course, followed Blaine while he walked from class to class when he started noticing the changes, and at first it just seemed as if the boy was in a hurry all the time, since he didn't stop and talk to anybody, but two days later of watching Blaine, Finn was sure; Blaine was not as okay as he said he was.

The other kids in Glee were acting weird, he'd noticed, too. They weren't smiling at Blaine, talking to him, they were actually pretty much ignoring him, and Finn wondered how he could _not h_ave noticed until now, even though he already knew the answer to that:

Blaine was a great actor. He knew how to keep things the way he wanted them, and if he didn't want anyone to notice that he was in fact not okay, he was doing a good job. But he didn't fool Finn. Not anymore at least.

Now, Finn _would've _talked to him. He was shy, yeah, and didn't always really know how to handle things, but he knew that he needed to do something about Blaine, he needed to find out what was the matter, and why everybody was ignoring him. Everyone else was so caught up with themselves they didn't notice at all, so Finn had decided to take the matters into his own hands, even though he wasn't comfortable with it. Nobody else was there for Blaine apparently, someone needed to be.

But when he finally went to McKinley on thursday with the intention of confronting Blaine about his observations, Blaine wasn't there. He asked the other Glee clubbers, but they all just shrugged, looking like they couldn't really care less about it. This worried Finn, but he figured he'd have to talk to Blaine before talking to anyone else.

But Blaine didn't come to school. And friday, he didn't come either. Now the whole weekend would pass before Finn could talk to him, and he was afraid that maybe he wouldn't have the courage to do it with three days of thinking.

But when monday came, he walked out the door more confident than ever, ready to solve whatever problem he needed to solve, with a big smile on his face.

But Blaine still wasn't in school, and still, nobody knew where he were. When he went to the Anderson house monday afternoon, all the lights were turned off, and clearly nobody was home. Blaine still didn't come to school, and Finn started to get worried for the boy. What if something was really wrong? But he shrugged it off. He was probably just sick.

But then, when thursday came and Finn walked down the corridor heading for the choir room, his worries seemed to be justified when he saw the boy standing there. Finn had to look again to be sure, but he knew; It was definitely Blaine, standing there by his locker, but the change was so drastic he almost didn't look like the Blaine everybody knew; hair gelled back, straight posture, warm smile and dapperness, anymore.

This was almost a different boy, standing before him with his head bowed down, still with the one arm that weren't in a sling inside of his locker, with a tight grasp around a book he was holding in there.

The first thing that you would notice was different, was probably his hair. It wasn't covered in the usual heavy amount of hair gel, it wasn't even styled. His curls were wild, longer than they'd been at prom last year, untamed and just a huge, tangled mess on top of his head. It looked kind of funny, but Finn didn't laugh.

Then there was his clothes. The usual bow tie priding his neck was gone, and instead there was now a dark blue scarf there, that looked completely out of place with the rest of the clothes; even Finn could see that. But the rest of his usually creative and colorful outfit, was just dull. Jeans, a grey polo and an oversized hoodie, that was it. He'd never thought he'd see Blaine like this, outside of gym class, and even in there he always did a little extra. This was just unimpressive and even though Finn would probably wear something like that, maybe except for the scarf, it was weird seeing _Blaine _wearing it. It was like seeing Kurt on the street wearing sweatpants and without any hair products in; and that was saying something.

But even though his outfit and hair was unusual, the weirdest things was his change in character; His posture was hunching, his head bowed like he didn't want to be seen, and he was breathing heavily as if he was concentrating hard on it. Finn moved closer, tilting his head slightly and frowning. Blaine did not look okay. He was pale as a ghost, and his eyes were wild, focused on his shaking hand inside the locker.

He was shaking. Finn hadn't noticed until now, but his whole body was trembling slightly, except for his hands which were shaking violently. Well, his ___hand__, _really_, _because Finn couldn't see the other one. The right arm lay in the homemade sling, and Blaine's right hand was placed in the pocket of his hoodie, hidden. There was a huge gash in his forehead that looked pretty fresh even though it wasn't bleeding or anything. It looked like it had been there for a few days.

Fear and worry crept in on Finn and he swallowed a lump as he took the few steps he had to take in order to stand behind Blaine, who was still just staring into his locker. He approached from the back, and even though you would probably turn around if you sensed someone standing right behind you, Blaine didn't. It was as if he didn't even know Finn was there.

"Hey, dude, you ok?" Finn asked casually, trying not to give away the feeling like something was wrong in his voice, but even though, there was a slight hint of panic in it. Blaine still didn't turn around, and Finn lifted his hand, and placed it on Blaine's shoulder, squeezing it to get Blaine to notice him, but what happened then, he had not expected. The reaction was immediate.

For a second Finn felt the boy's shoulder tension and twitch when he lay his hand on it, but then Blaine's whole body jerked away from the touch with much force, slamming into the lockers before him so he tripped over his own feet, and before he knew what was even happening, he fell.

A natural reaction would be to bring your hands out in front of you to catch yourself, so of course Blaine did. He just didn't think about the fact that it was his bad arm he was using, so when all his body weight was suddenly forced to be carried by it when he hit the floor, a nasty crunch was heard.

Blaine screamed, a horrifying scream of pain, and everybody who was near petrified in their movements. Finn, too. He had no idea what to do.

He just stood there, staring blankly at the shaking boy before his feet. Blaine stopped screaming. For a moment he lay on the ground, catching up with his breath, and then slowly, he rose to his feet again, panting and with tears in his eyes.

Nobody was moving. He looked around, at all the people staring at him with a wild and terrified look in his eyes, like he was an animal trapped in a cage. Finn moved closer, cautiously, and lifted his hand again, attempting to grab Blaine's good arm and help him to the nurse. But Blaine immediately retreated as he saw the hand approaching him, looking Finn into his eyes. Finn stepped back a little in shock. Blaine's eyes were widened, red and terrified. And Finn could see what he was so scared of, but he didn't understand. Why would Blaine be afraid of ___him? _The bell rang, but still, nobody was moving.  
_  
_"Blaine?" He said, his own voice trembling slightly as he began approaching again. But Blaine just backed further away, almost tripping over his own feet again. Then he turned and ran.

As he turned his back to Finn, he could see the red patch of blood forming around his bad shoulder that was quickly expanding. Everybody in the hallway had backed to the lockers, so it weren't hard for Blaine to storm out of the front door of McKinley. The door shut loudly behind him.

Suddenly, the hallway was chaos. Everybody started talking loudly about what had just happened. Some were laughing, how could people even be _laughing _at this, some were just horrified, but nobody felt like Finn. Blaine had been afraid. Blaine had been afraid of ___him._What had he done wrong? He needed to talk to Blaine, now.

Quickly, he squeezed his way through the crowds of teenagers gathering in the middle of the hallway, and hurried out the door that Blaine had just left through, too. He didn't need to search for long, though.

It was deserted outside, except for a group of kids running to get to class in time, and Finn shivered when the cold winter air surrounded him. He closed the jacket in front as he hurried down the stairs, following the footprints in the thin layer of snow covering the ground, and soon they led him to Blaine.

He was sitting behind a tree holding his jacket closed in the front, eyes wide and wet. His knees were pulled into his chest, and his chin was resting on them. His whole body was shaking violently, and every now and then loud sobs and whimpers from the pain in his shoulder escaped his lips. Speaking of the shoulder, the dark red patch of blood had quickly grown, and it looked terrifying.

"Blaine?" Finn asked, carefully, and slowly approached Blaine, who jerked his head immediately by the sound of Finns voice. He slowly started to get up, but couldn't really, so instead he just tried to back away in sitting position, which was kind of a tall order. Finn stopped moving closer.

"Blaine. Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt you, man," he tried, voice soft and gentle. Blaine's expression became softer and he stopped backing away, but he still looked like a trapped animal. Finn started to get closer again, but Blaine just started moving backwards again as he did. Tears were streaming down his face.

"Please," he suddenly said. His voice sounded all weird, like he hadn't used it for awhile, hoarse and jittery. "D-don't come c-closer."

Finn was hurt. He didn't know what he was doing wrong, why Blaine suddenly couldn't stand to be near him, why he was so _afraid _of him, but any way he stopped moving.

"Okay," he said, and lifted his hand in the air to show surrender, but it just made Blaine flinch again. "I wont."

He watched Blaine for a couple of minutes, as his breathing slowed down, his shoulders slouched and finally, the wild look in his eyes was replaced with simple sadness. By this time, Finn had sat down, solidly placed on his jacket still a few feet away from Blaine. He looked at him in concern.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong?" he asked, and lifted his eyebrows. Blaine didn't meet his gaze. He sighed to himself, and shook his head as if trying to sort out the thoughts in there. His voice was slightly shaking when he spoke.

"I-I just.. I fell down the stairs at home a-and.. You just touched my bad shoulder, that's it."

Finn looked at him in disbelief, his mouth agape. "Are you serious?" he asked, clearly not thinking so.

Blaine finally looked up, a confused look in his eyes, like he didn't understand what Finn meant. "Blaine, don't lie to me. I know I didn't grab your bad shoulder. It's in a sling for gods sake, I'm not_ that_ stupid. You were frightened by me. Why? Why did you get so scare-"

"I wasn't scared!"

Blaine's voice suddenly wasn't small nor was it quiet anymore. Finn was speechless. Did Blaine just _shout? _Blaine never shouted. Blaine was _dapper, _Blaine was polite.  
The boy beside him sighed again, all anger gone, and looked at Finn with pleading eyes.

"I _wasn't _scared," he said again, voice silent. "I-I just.. You startled me and I-"  
"That was more than a startle, Blaine, don't try and minimize-"

"So what if it was!" Blaine was shouting again, as he looked at Finn, angrily. "Why would _you _care? It's none of your business!___None of you care__!_"

While he was talking, he'd gotten to his feet, and now clasped his hand over his mouth like he was ashamed of his own words. His breathing reached a pit again. "Finn I.. I can't. I-I have to go."

Finn didn't follow him this time. He wanted to. He wanted to go grab him, follow him to the nurses office and fix his shoulder, but he just sat there, staring dumbly after the boy that quickly ran across the parking lot. He wouldn't know what to say, anyway.  
Then the figure disappeared as he turned a corner.

* * *

When Finn entered the garage, Burt was bend over, staring into the engine of a red car with a worried look on his face. The frown only increased when Finn told him that he needed to talk.

"What's up, kiddo?" He threw the screwdriver on the nearest table, and dried off his hands in a already oily towel, thrown carelessly on the cooler of another car.

"I just.." Finn's voice faded, as he tried to make out the right words to say. What was he supposed to say, anyway? He had no idea of what was going on, whatsoever.  
He'd never been good at talking to Burt about serious things. But even though, the adult was always listening patiently, and Finn figured he'd give it a try.

"Yes?" Burt asked and raised his eyebrows, waiting for Finn to proceed.  
"It's-It's about Blaine." Finn watched Burt's expression carefully. He actually didn't really know how the man felt about Blaine after what happened, but something told him that he was the right guy to come to, when mr Schue weren't there. Burt froze for a moment, then he sighed and looked resignedly at Finn. "What about him?"

Finn exhaled in relief. "He's been acting really weird lately and.. A-and then he weren't there and suddenly he was and I don't know what happened but he just got _scared _when I touched him, but you know, not like _that _touched him, just his arm and it wasn't even the bad arm and he ran and I asked him and-"

"Wow, calm down kiddo." Burt grabbed Finns shoulders, shook him gently as he started babbling, and looked him deeply into the eyes. "Now tell me again, but slowly. And start from the beginning, kay?"

So Finn did. He told about Blaine's breakdown at the audition, how nobody had noticed his change in appearance, because they were all ignoring him. He told about how he suddenly weren't there and nobody was home at his house, and ended with telling Burt all about the events of the day, Blaine's change in looks and personality and his panic attack.

The whole time, Burt just sat there, listening, but not giving any signs of emotion except for a tiny wrinkle of concern on his forehead. When Finn was done talking, he just kept sitting there without saying anything, with his head placed in his hands, rubbing his temples. After a couple of minutes, Finn started to get a little creeped out.

"Burt?" he asked carefully, and the older man sighed, and finally lifted his head. He looked worried.

"I.." Burt started to say something, but seemed to regret it. "I think we should go talk to him."

Finn nodded in agreement.  
"I know. But last time I was there, nobody was home."

"Well, it can't hurt to try. I just.. I think he needs someone, ya know? I still haven't quite forgiven him for what he did to Kurt, for christ sake, he's my ___son__, and I feel like I should be on Kurts side, and Kurts side only. B_ut on the other hand I don't think these weeks have been easy on Blaine, either. We should go."

Finn nodded. "Y-yeah," he said, stunned by the other's sudden pity for the boy who'd hurt his son like that, less that two weeks ago. It was very openhearted of Burt, and Finn knew that it was a big deal for him, but it was good. Judging by what Finn had seen today, Blaine needed any support and help he could get.

* * *

The drive to Westerville was one and a half hour, but Burt and Finn made it there in just a single one, and soon Burt's truck was parked safely in front of the Anderson house.

Finn had been there three times before before. Once, when Blaine went to pick up some stuff when he, Kurt, Puck and Finn were going bowling, then when he and Rachel came to visit when Blaine had had surgery, and then once more that monday, but he still gaped as they walked the brick path that lead them to the front door. Big and flamboyant. Those were the words that came to Finns mind, as he studied the garden and the huge house in front of him. He was impressed by the massive house, huge garden and expensive sculptures, but he'd always thought about how weird it must be living there.

When he thought about home, he thought about somewhere you felt safe – even though with that security system you probably did here, too, but that wasn't really what he meant. He thought about a place where you could rest, be yourself and be loved, he thought about it as somewhere warm and cosy, and this really didn't look like that kind of place.

Finn shivered as Burt knocked the door. It was freezing cold outside, and the wind just made it all worse.

He tucked in his coat furtherer, just as they heard movement behind the door. Steps, that were getting closer and closer, until the door opened, and a neat man appeared before their eyes. His hair was slicked back, not as much as Blaine's usually was, though, and he was dressed in a dark suit with matching shoes. He looked at Finn and Burt with raised eyebrows.

"Hello? Can I help you?" he asked, his voice exactly as you would imagine it; dark and slightly cynical.

"Hi." Burt stuck forward his hand, and the man shook it firmly. "You must be mr Anderson?"

"I am. Do you want to come inside?"

"I-uh, sure. Thank you." Burt looked slightly perplexed by the thought of going into the house, but he figured he'd have to in order to speak to Blaine.

They followed Mr Anderson into the house and hung their jackets as neatly as possible on the hangers beside the door, and then followed him through the hall and into the living room.

The inside of the house was just as flashy as the outside, and both Finn and Burt gaped as they entered.

The first things you would notice when you entered the room was probably the huge staircase in the middle of the room, leading to the first floor, which was draped with a glamorous carpet. To the right was a huge kitchen, and between that and a corner sofa standing in front of a black television, was a wall. Everything was clean, and there was almost no colors in there. Except for the wooden furniture and sculptures, everything in the room was shades of either white, grey or black. It looked stylish, but it didn't look like home.

Standing in the kitchen was a young woman, dressed in a red dress that fitted her lean body perfectly. Her stilettos clacked against the floor as she walked across the room to greet the guests.

"Hello," she said, her voice high pitched and again, it fitted the person talking perfectly. "And who may you be?"

"You must be mrs. Anderson? I'm Burt Hummel, and this is my son Finn," Burt greeted, shaking her well manicured hand, but he noticed the slight change in the pairs expression as he told them his name. The mans eyes widened slightly, then he narrowed them at Burt, while the woman just looked oblivious.

"Hummel? Haven't I heard that somewhere before?" she asked, but her husband just brushed her off with a hand gesture.

"Darling, why don't you just go make us some coffee in the kitchen while I do the business?"

Then turned her around with his hands placed on both sides of her hips. She just nodded and clacked into the kitchen again.

But when mr Anderson turned around again, his expression was not one bit friendly anymore. He narrowed his eyes at Burt and snorted, suddenly not mr Perfect.

"Hummel, huh? You must be that Kurt kid's father then, am I right?"

Burt frowned. He knew that Blaine's father wasn't really supporting, but to act like this was just..

"Yes, I am. Does that matter?" Mr Anderson didn't answer the question.  
"Why are you here, then?"

Burt cleared his throat, remaining calm. The last thing he wanted right now was to loose his temper in front of Finn.

"I um.." He coughed again. "Have you noticed any changes in your sons behavior in this past week? Like mood swings, stuff like that.." Mr Anderson laughed, a humorless laugh, as if that answered the question. He didn't seem to have anything else to say about that, so Burt continued with a frown.

"Well, you see Finn currently works at McKinley which, you know, Blaine attends, and, well, he's been acting kind of strange since he and Kurt broke up, and-"  
"They broke up?"

Burt was stunned. He didn't know? _He really didn't ____know? _Hadn't Blaine even told his own parents?

"Ugh," he choked. "I-yes, I thought you knew? It's been almost two weeks and-"  
"I didn't." Mr Anderson cut him off. "So why are you here?" he asked again, still with the same intimidating voice.  
"Oh, right, I'm actually here to see Blaine, is he home?"  
The taller man was quiet for a moment. Then his expression hardened and he shook his head.  
"No," he just said.  
"Well, do you know where he is, then?"  
"No." Still nothing else, just a short and odd answer. How could he not know where his own son was? And still sound like he couldn't care less, even if he did?  
"Do you even know when he'll be home?"  
"Blaine doesn't live here anymore. He hasn't been since monday. I figured you knew? Apparently you know him a lot better than I do." The sarcasm in the last sentences was not to be mistaken.

_Doesn't live here? What?!  
_Both Burt and Finn's eyes widened, and Finn let out a gasp. He didn't _live there? _That didn't make any sense! He hadn't told anyone he moved out! Was that even _legal? _He was only seventeen. No wait, eighteen. Finn had completely forgotten about his birthday last month.

"Wh-what?" Burt sounded just as surprised as Finn did, as his voice reached a higher pitch which really did something to the mans appearance. "Why? Is he-Where is he, then?"

"I don't know." Mr Anderson kept calm, still watching Burt with a cynical expression. "And I don't care."  
Don't care. _Don't care. He didn't care about his own son._

"How can you say that?" It was the first time Finn talked since they entered the Anderson house, and Mr Anderson now turned his pinning gaze to him. "He's your _son."_

"Well, apparently he's not the boy I thought he were. That's why I kicked him out."

"You-you kicked him out?" It was as if the truth first hit Burt a few seconds late. "YOU KICKED HIM OUT OF HIS OWN HOME?!"

He was shouting. He couldn't do this. His heart was in his throat, and he felt nauseous. Blaine had been kicked out by his own _father.  
_Mr Anderson didn't seem very affected by the shouting, he simply just stood taller, indicating how much taller than Burt he was. Burt drew back a little, and suddenly took in what the other man had just said.

"Wait, why are you saying he's not the boy you thought he were? You knew he was gay, right? Well of course you did since you knew about Ku-"

Mr Anderson cut off his babbling. "I found drugs in his room."

Drugs. The room fell silent.

"Wh-what do you mean drugs?" Finn asked silently a moment later "Like, are you sure it was even his-"  
Mr Anderson laughed heartlessly again. "Oh yes, I'm positive. He even admitted it himself. I found _heroine _and _needles, _even several bottles of strong alcohol. And I will _not _tolerate that in my home.

"My wife and I had been away for a short amount of time, and apparently, Blaine thought that he could take advantage of being home alone. But I wont let him bring that kind of stuff into our home. I will not have that kind of a son."

Finn fell silent again, but Burt had come to his senses again. He stepped close to Mr Anderson and looked him into the eyes. His voice was raised when he spoke.

"So you just kicked him out?! You didn't think that maybe, just ___maybe__, _you should try and help your son? You haven't thought that maybe he needed someone? A person to rely on, a person that he could trust and seek help in? You were supposed to be that person!"

Mr Anderson's eyes widened in anger, and his voice was a low hissing as he spoke. Small chunks of spit flew out of his mouth in his anger and landed in Burt's face, but the man didn't budge.

"Listen to me now. You're in my home, so these are my rules. You do not know me, and you do not know Blaine the way that I do, and you will___not _tell me what to do. Blaine will come to his senses, he got himself in to this on his own, he will get out of this on his own. And I will not take orders from some fairy boy's father, understood?"

Burt was furious, especially at those last words, but he contained his anger. The man was right, violence was against the law, and this wasn't his home he was in. So he just stepped even closer to Mr Anderson, hissing back.

"I may not know you, but I do know what it means to be a dad. And you are not one."

Then he left, Finn following him closely, leaving the neat man standing petrified and rumpled, anger burning in his eyes.

* * *

"I can't believe it!" Burt banged his fist to the table before him so a glass tipped, and water spread quickly across the blank wooden surface. Carole sighed, grabbed a washcloth and wiped the table clean.

"Don't worry, Burt, you'll find him. He's probably just staying at a motel for the time being or something. You can see him tomorrow."  
Burt wanted to believe her. But he couldn't. He knew that the nearest motel was a three hour drive from Lima, and Finn had told him that Blaine walked to school, which meant that he couldn't staying there. But he was just nowhere.

It had been four hours since he and Finn had went to the Anderson house, and he'd been calling people, looking for Blaine ever since, but there was still no sign of him.

Cooper was apparently working on a big film in Europe, so he wasn't with him. Neither was he with Wes, and none of the other Warblers had heard from him, either. They'd called the small amount of family he had, too, but nobody had heard from him. He simply hadn't talked to or told ___anybody _about _anything. _Nobody seemed to know about any drug problems, and for now they were still just hoping that it wasn't true. There could be more to the story than what they'd heard.

They had told Cooper all that they knew, but also told him not to come back just yet. They hadn't seen it with their own eyes yet.  
Finn, Carole and Burt were all watching the weather news, even though nobody really did; They were all much too distracted with another certain situation, when Burt's phone rang.

He picked it up, slowly, and groaned as he received the message from the other end. He tried negotiating about whatever he was being told to do, but soon a beep rang from the other end, leaving him with no choice but to agree.

"Who was it, honey?" Carole asked, anxiously. She, like everybody else in the room, was just waiting to hear news about Blaine. Even though Kurt was mad at him and she was, too, she had never stopped caring for the polite and smiling boy that had spent so much time in their home in the past years. Now, judging by Burt's explanation of Blaine's parents, she could understand why he'd rather have been there than at home.

"It was the company. They need me to go pick up some abandoned car that has been left somewhere in the ditch by the highway or something. It's been there for a few days now, and we can't let it be for any longer."

"In this weather?" she asked, casting a sideway glance at the window, where the hail was pouring down. The weather channel had also just reported this the coldest day of the year yet. And that said something.

"I have to, unless it'll get seized, and we need all the spare parts we can get. They'll fire me if I don't"

"Burt, it's like a blizzard out there," Finn stated, but Burt just sighed.

"I got my truck, so it'll be fine. It's probably good to get my mind off things for a little while, too."

Carole nodded, and while Burt packed the things he'd need to move the abandoned car, she got his coat and shoes ready, waiting for him in the hall.

"It'll be fine," she said soothingly and placed a kiss on his cheek, before opening the door for him. He smiled halfheartedly, and exited.  
Hesitatingly, he went into the garage, started the roaring engine to his truck, and drove out. The wind whipped the hail into the front of the car, making it almost impossible to see anything, but since there was nobody else on the streets in this weather, Burt did fine, and didn't collide into anything. But the trip hadn't distracted him yet. If anything, the silence in the car just made him think things through even more.

He didn't know why he got so worked up about it; he was supposed to be mad at Blaine, but everything about the kids situation just made him feel bad. Of course, he didn't know what was wrong, and if it was even true that Blaine was doing drugs, but why wouldn't it be? And judging by what Finn had experienced the same day, it didn't look that good. And being kicked out like that by his own _parents._

This was what was worst part, in Burt's eyes. These people were supposed to be there for him, no matter what, and instead they'd just taken their distance when the kid probably needed them the most.

He didn't need to drive for long, until he reached the highway. There were only a few cars on there, but they were far away. He drove slowly, scouting the side of the road after the car that his boss had been talking about, and soon he detected it. The dull silver car was parked maybe twenty feet away from the road. No, not parked, ___crashed _into a tree, as if someone had driven into the tree and just left it there. It was covered in leaves that had fallen from the twitches above it.

Burt sighed repeatedly, and slowly, he got out of the car. He shuddered; it was freezing. The wind was cold and severe, blowing of his cap as soon as he got out. He ran after it and caught it just before it flew onto the road. Cursing the storm and hail that hurt every time it hit the bare skin in his face, he started walking through the snow to the car.

First, he got up to the front to take a good look on the engine. He sighed. It was ruined by the crash, and there was no way that they could use it. He tugged in his jacket furtherer and went to the side of the car, proceeding to open the door, but something stopped him. The windows were iced, so you could barely see the inside of the car. But you could see just enough to notice the rumpled figure laying curled up on the backseat. It was a man, but his face was blurred by the ice and also half of it was hidden under a thin blanket, so Burt couldn't see it. He was shaking violently, Burt realized with relief; he wasn't dead. He tried to open the door, but it was locked.

"Hey? You there, can you hear me?" he asked, and rattled the knob again, but there was no answer from inside the car, except for a silent whimper. "Are you all right? Hey? Can you unlock the door for me?" But still, there was no movement or response from inside the car, just moaning and whimpering. Burt groaned. He wanted to help, but the man inside the car wasn't helping much himself, and it made things kind of hard. But it was freezing out here, and with a crash like that, the engine probably couldn't support any heat, and it made sense for him to not want to move. It would just make things easier.

Burt ran as quickly as he could through the snow, where he got a multi key. That thing could open every car lock ever made, but you'd have to be in the business to get one. Luckily and obviously, Burt was.

He went back to maybe not so abandoned car again, and unlocked the back door, which immediately flew open by the help of the wind as he grabbed the handle. He slowly approached the shaking figure, which face he still couldn't see. Just a wild mane of dark curls. The rest was covered under the thin blanket. There were ice crystals in the hair, and the body was shivering wildly.

"Bud? You ok?" Again, there was no answer but a moan followed by a whimper. Burt cursed under his breath; how long had this guy been out here?

Slowly, he got closer and moved a steady hand to the blanket. Then he removed it, and gasped. It was no man, laying there in the freezing car, he realized as a familiar face with eyes shut tightly and a frown from pain on his forehead was reveled before his eyes.

"B-Blaine?" He asked, and finally the boy reacted, as he heard his name being called. He turned his head slightly, eyes widening as they met Burt's, and a sound that was a mix between a whimper and a gasp escaped his lips. He tried backing away to the other side of the car, but the movement turned out to be nothing more than a slight jerk which released an orgy of pain in his shoulder.

He groaned loudly again, and turned his head back into the seat, where so many tears had already fallen, and more were yet to come.  
Burt was horrified. Had Blaine been here ever since his parents kicked him out? He wanted to kick something, he wanted to shout, but he figured now wasn't the time. Blaine's eyes had freaked him out. They'd been so full of fear, exactly like Finn had described, like he was scared of _him.  
_  
"Okay. Blaine. I need to get you out of here. Please try to cooperate just a little bit, if you can," Burt said, voice shaking slightly, but of course the boy didn't answer. So Burt just proceeded to wrap his arms around him to lift him up, but as soon as he touched the right shoulder through the carpet, Blaine screamed out in pain, and Burt drew back immediately. He looked at his hand which was suddenly, much to his horror, covered in a red, sticky mass; blood. Now he finally noticed the huge red spot around the shoulder, and he gasped. Finn had mentioned a bad shoulder, but he hadn't thought it was _this_ bad. What the hell had happened to him?

"It's okay, kiddo," he said soothingly, approaching the whimpering figure again. "It hurts, I know. But I need to get you out of here, right now. It'll only hurt for a moment."

Then he quickly grabbed the boy again, careful not to touch the shoulder, and lifted the boy out of the car fireman style. The blanket fell off, and Burt noticed a tiny dog that Blaine was still clutching close to his chest with his hands, which shook terribly. _At least they were moving._

Burt almost ran to his own car, as fast as he could with a hurt teenager in his arms, placing Blaine in the co-driver's seat so he could keep an eye on him. Other than the shoulder, he didn't seem to have any injuries, Burt concluded, but his eyes were weird. They were half closed as if he was about to fall asleep, and had an indifferent look about them. As if he didn't care if he lived or died.

Suddenly he spoke, as Burt was just about to close the door. "W-wait," he said hoarsely, his voice weak. It looked like it took a lot of effort to just speak through his blue lips. "Ca-c-c-can you g-g-get m-my bag?" he slurred, as his head fell to his chest as if he couldn't keep it upright anymore.

"I will, but only if you promise not to fall asleep while I go, okay? Keep yourself awake, think about something that makes you happy." To Burt it seemed like a good distraction from the current situation, but Blaine just snorted as if 'something happy' was just an unrealistic, far away thing, and it broke Burt's heart.

Quickly he went and got the huge duffle bag from the backseat of the crashed car, the one he was guessing Blaine had been talking about, and hurried back to his own truck. He went into the drivers seat and looked at Blaine. His eyes were closed.

"Hey! Don't fall asleep, kiddo," he said, as he shook Blaine lightly, without hurting him of course. His eyes fluttered open, and for a second he looked like he couldn't focus on anything. Then he turned his head again after opening and closing his eyes a couple of times, and looked out of the window. He still had that careless look in his eyes.

Burt continued to cast glances to his side to see if Blaine was staying awake, while they drove. His eyes weren't focused, but they were open. He had to stay awake. If he fell asleep, there was a slight chance that he would just stop breathing, and that he might not wake up again. At least if the drugged like appearance was caused from actual drugs.

The ice crystals in his hair, eyebrows and outgrowing beard was beginning to melt, and his cheeks wasn't as colorless as they were before, but he was still freezing, even though the heat in the car was on max. His arms was wrapped tightly around himself, and he was shivering, teeth chattering.

When they pulled into the garage, after what seemed like the longest fifteen minutes Burt had experienced, Carole, which he had called briefly as they drove, was already standing in the doorway. She hurried to Blaine's door, but Burt shot her a warning glance before she got to open it.

"Be gentle with him. I don't know what's wrong, but his shoulder is messed up. He flinches at contact, but either he's drugged up from the cold or else he's.." his voice faded, but Carole nodded. She understood. "Well, anyway, he's not very focused, so I think we can get him into the house without him freaking out. In this state he probably wont even notice we're there."

There was no questions. No 'Is he going to stay here?'. She knew, they both knew, that he had nowhere else to go. They knew, that right now what he needed was for someone to care for him, an they were apparently the only people available right now.

She opened the door, and quickly caught Blaine, who fell out immediately. Apparently, he'd been leaning all his weight against the door, and when it suddenly wasn't there anymore he simply didn't notice and continued to lean against the now nonexistent support.

Luckily, Carole didn't hit his shoulder, but she easily could've. Burt hurried to help her, and together they towed the stumbling boy to his feet, standing on each side of him, holding around his waist.

"Blaine, focus now. We need to get you inside, okay? And you have to work with us, here." Carole's soothing voice seemed to be the thing to get him moving, so while she kept talking, he moved his feet, and with a lot of help from the two adults, he was soon inside.  
Finn quickly got up from his place in the lean chair, but Carole gently pushed him away with her free hand.

"We got this, honey. Why don't you go and prepare the bed in the guest room for Blaine?" Finn nodded eagerly, but seemed distracted by Blaine's state. Carole had told him not to stare, he suddenly remembered, and hurried up the stairs.

But it was so weird seeing Blaine like this. First, yesterday, and now again, only worse. For as long as Finn had known Blaine, he'd been the dapperness itself. He'd always been this smiling, caring and put together person, so seeing him like this turned everything upside down. He looked.. ___broken__.  
_  
He was definitely on drugs, like mr Anderson had claimed. None of them had said it, but Finn knew that both Burt and Carole knew, too. Even though he hadn't seen anyone who was on drugs before, he could easily figure out that Blaine was. Just the slow nodding, his nonexistent reflexes, his movements, the slurred look in his eyes; everything about him was different and ___wrong.  
__  
_Of course he was still kind of paralyzed by falling asleep in the cold night with nothing to keep him warm whatsoever, but there was more to this.

Finn had just finished making the bed, when he heard the three others at the end of the stairs. It was a difficult task to get Blaine who was almost already asleep up there, but somehow they'd managed to.

They tried dragging him across the floor to the bed, but for some reason, suddenly Blaine wouldn't budge. Burt looked at him, and suddenly saw how everything about the boys appearance had changed from before;

His eyes were wide and his pupils almost not visible, and he looked ___terrified._Not just careless like before, this was much worse. He was just standing there, staring at the bed, while his breathing's speed increased. His whole body was shaking violently.

"Blaine, honey? What's wrong?" Carole asked, her arm suddenly not around his waist anymore, as he backed away.

For a moment he swayed and then he fell, but Burt quickly grabbed him before he reached the floor. He winced at the contact, but didn't jerk away this time.

"I-I-I-I I c-c-can't do t-t-thi-this," he stuttered with a quiet but high pitched voice. It was weird. He seemed so focused suddenly, but still so far away. "I-it's K-K-Kurt's room, I-I c-c-can't invade it, I-I-I s-shouldn't take u-up his space, h-he wouldn't w-want-"

_Oh. _They'd all completely forgotten that this was Kurt's old room. Ever since he'd left for New York, it had just been named the 'guest room', and nobody ever really thought much about it, even though some of his old stuff was still in there

"Blaine, kiddo, stop. You're not invading anything. Hey, slow down," Burt added, still feeling the extreme tension in the body he was supporting to keep it upright. "Kurt would want you to be safe, and you are here. Okay?"

But Blaine's eyes still flickered around the room rapidly. He didn't look like he felt safe at all. His breathing increased again, and he started hyperventilating, and the look in his eyes became wider. He struggled to scape Burt's grip, but he couldn't.

"Hey, slow down Blaine, take a deep breath," Burt told him, but he couldn't. Everything was turning and blurry, and suddenly the boys body collapsed into Burt's arms. It was a luck that Burt was holding him, or else he would've probably hurt his shoulder, and himself, when hitting the floor. Finn hurried to help Burt, avoiding the bad shoulder, and together, of course only after they checked his breathing and heart rhythm, they carried the fainted boy to the bed. Then Carole hurried to one of the drawers, finding a pair of old sweatpants that Kurt had never used and therefore left behind when he moved, and quickly returning again.

"Burt, can you get me a scissor?" she asked, as always the only one keeping her head completely cool. Of course, she _was_ a nurse, she knew how to handle situations like this.

Burt nodded blankly, and quickly fetched a scissor from another drawer, which he handed clumsily to Carole. "Thank you, sweetheart."  
Then she took of Blaine's scarf, and they all gasped. Finn suddenly understood why he'd been wearing it in the first place; to hide the tiny marks from needles that were placed all over his neck. As Carole took off his hoodie and cut open his shirt, more track marks were reveled on his lower right arm, but that wasn't the most horrifying thing; it was how skinny he'd gotten in the short amount of time, like he hadn't been eating at all.

Carole carefully pulled down his pants, and quickly, before Finn got to be uncomfortable with seeing his friend unconscious in only his underwear, she put on the sweatpants. But Finn wasn't looking. He'd grabbed something from the floor, which he was now staring at with a surprised expression.

"What's that, honey?" Carole asked, squeezing Finns shoulder lightly, like he was the one who needed comforting.

"I-it's just.. Um, Rachel made me win all these stuffed animals for her on senior ditch day, and well.. Kurt sorta stole one of them to give to Blaine, because he was feeling down or somethin', and well.." He waved the dog, still just staring at his feet. His face was red, but not from embarrasment. He just felt like he was intruding on something really personal right then, something intimate, telling Burt and Carole about that, standing with the dog..

Carole sensed his mood, quickly snatched the dog from him and gently placed it in Blaine's hands. Surprisingly enough, the sleeping boy grabbed it tightly, and tugged it closely in to his chest. She smiled slightly by the sight. Then she put all the blood stained clothes in a bucket nearby, which she carried with her as they all went upstairs.

* * *

"So it's true," Finn mumbled, as they were all sitting at the table, eyes closed, rubbing their temples as if to sort out the thoughts in there.

Carole sighed. "Apparently, it is," she said, and opened her eyes to look at Finn. "But that's not our biggest problem right now." Finn frowned; he couldn't really see any other problems (well except for the part that Blaine had nowhere to go.) "We need to figure out what's wrong with him. There must be a reason for him to get himself involved in something like this. There always is." The last sentence she said, almost as if the reassure herself. Burt looked up.

"Of course there is," he said, worry in his eyes. "This isn't Blaine. The Blaine I know would never do something like this." Finn nodded, agreeing, and continued to speak when Burt didn't.

"But we need to give him time." Both the adults looked at Finn, surprised. "I just mean; we can't force him to tell us yet if he doesn't want to. He's, like, _scared _of us. Before we get him to talk, we should get him to trust us."

The other two both nodded with wide eyes, and despite the sad situation they offered each other a tiny smile. Finn most certainly wasn't stupid. He thought what other people didn't think.

* * *

**A/N: So, a lot Finn and Burt in this chapter. I think there'll be more from Burt's POV because I love the Blaine/Burt relationship, but I don't know. I don't think I'll write anymore Finn, though. Maybe ome other people. We'll see, I hope you enjoyed!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: And chapter 3 is out! I hope you'll enjoy. I hope you know that this is mostly written from Blaine's point of view, so all of these horrible, horrible things I write are absolutely **_**not **_**the way I see it.  
So, first part of the chapter is not very detailed writing, because it's just telling you about what happened in short form, like how you would tell someone else. But it's not **_**just **_**what happened, from Blaine's POV, we also get on with the story.**

**Warnings are the same as for every other chapter.**

**IMPORTANT (if you read chapter two the day I posted it):**  
**I changed a few things in chapter 2, in order for this chapter to work out. It doesn't matter that much to the story, but just so you guys don't get confused, read this:  
**  
**Blaine doesn't get taken to the basement, of course, because the Hummel-Hudson's moved in season 2, and I completely mixed it up, thinking that they moved to where the basement are and.. yeah. So, instead Blaine get's taken to Kurt's old room upstairs, and everything that happens from there on is mostly the same, except for this:  
**  
**I've written a small part when Blaine is passed out in Kurt's room, just like he did, just not in the basement, where Finn notices the Margaret Thatcher dog, that Blaine dropped when he fainted, and he just explains to Burt and Carole what it is.**  
**Also, Blaine hit his head earlier in the story, you'll hear about it in chapter 3, and I completely forgot to write anything about it. So, there is just the slight change that when Finn sees Blaine thursday morning in school, he has a gash in the forehead, too.  
**  
**I'm sorry for the mistakes, I'll try to do better, but I'm writing the story as we go (I know what'll happen and stuff, but not down to every last detail, that just makes writing boring) so I promise I'll tell if there's any changes in the previous chapters.**  
**Okay, enough with the jibber jabber, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

Blaine hadn't meant for it to turn out this bad. Drugs was never something he would have evereven _considered _trying, but somehow he did even though.

But was it bad, though?

_Yes it is. Drugs are bad, Blaine._

But that was the thing; he didn't feel like it was. If something was bad, wasn't it supposed to make you feel really miserable and awful? The drugs didn't make him feel like that, and neither did the alcohol. It just made everything _better. _And wasn't that a good thing? To actually feel good for once?

Well, he didn't feel _good. _But he felt better. He just felt numb, and that was good enough for him. Numb meant no thoughts, no thoughts meant no memories, and no memories meant no pain. Numb was definitely better than how he usually felt.

It'd all started that night he'd broken into his father's liquor cabinet, chunked half a bottle of vodka and gone to the bar. Not Scandals, though. There had been no way he'd been going back there. Just a regular bar with a lot of straight people, which had meant that a lot of girls had hit on him. Ignoring them had seemed like the easiest way to get rid of them.

Thing was, ever since that horrible night with Jeremy, Blaine had been terrified of contact with other people, and it was killing him. He'd tried going to school on friday, because he wouldn't want people to notice his absence - _not like they'd notice you even if you were dancing in front of their faces screaming out your sorrows - _but as soon as he'd laid his hand on the doorknob to go outside for the first time in two days, he'd simply started hyperventilating and sunk right back to the ground, sobbing while he'd locked the door again. Just by the _thought _of being near other people_. _He felt so stupid. It was _his _fault. He'd asked for it in the first place, even though he regretted it afterwards. But Jeremy had just given him what he asked for, right?

And god, what would people think if they knew? What kind of slutty, desperate _pig _would do something like that, barely a week after he'd ruined his relationship? No. He wouldn't risk people finding out. Staying inside seemed like a better way for now, than going out, trying to act like nothing was wrong and probably fail miserably.

The contact thing was the worst, though. Worse than the thought of people knowing. He couldn't go outside. He couldn't go anywhere, and he needed to. He couldn't stay inside anymore, trapped in the huge house with only his thoughts to keep him company – which was pretty miserable company – and this was why he started with the alcohol.

He needed out, and he needed to be able to without having a nervous breakdown. So he figured, if he was so drunk from his senses, he could probably do it. He was partially right. The alcohol definitely made things easier, but even though, he was still flinching every time someone came too close or even if they just talked too loud or made sudden movements. His heart was still pounding way too fast, and he was expecting unexpected gropes every time someone was less than a few feet close. It was all too much, and he'd regretted going out as soon as he was in the bar, but it was kind of too late, then.

So when the man who found him shaking and broken in the bathroom offered him a 'hit', he didn't hesitate. He was drunk, but even though, everything was still hurting and anything that would make that all go away, was considered a friend. And it did help.

With time he even found that, mixed with alcohol, it would make even the nausea that was plaguing him constantly, disappear. And he felt so amazingly numb.

For three days Blaine lived in a perfectly blurry and careless existence, and everything was.. well, you wouldn't say good, but for Blaine it was. Compared to the days leading up to this, it was.

He didn't worry, only when he woke up in the morning and the effects had worn off, but then he'd quickly melt some of the heroin in a spoon, put it into the syringe and pump it into his veins. Sometimes he was too impatient, and he would just eat or sniff the white powder.

But then his parents had to come home and ruin everything.

One night, his father had suddenly just been standing there in his doorframe. Blaine hadn't even heard them enter the house. He'd just drunk a whole bottle of tequila and had a fix, so he wasn't very convincing when he tried telling his dad that he was completely sober.

Of course, mr Anderson had not been fooled. The room had stunk terribly of strong alcohol, sweat and burnt metal, and syringes and empty bottles had been thrown carelessly everywhere. Blaine hadn't really thought it through when he'd said that he was sober.

He'd been so completely baffled when his father had started yelling, and he hadn't really been listening to the words, because it was just increasing his headache. Instead he had just been sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples attempting to force his mind to make some sense, when his father had grabbed him by his collar. He'd just been able to make out the words "Are you even listening, you ungrateful little shit," at the end of a sentence, and it had awoken him. Him? Ungrateful? He'd looked into his fathers eyes.

"Are you? Have you ever even been listening to _me_?" he'd said, a little slurry but clear enough, and his father had narrowed his eyes at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he'd asked, spit flying to Blaine's face.

"Have you ever even cared about me, dad? Aren't you the one who's not listening, huh?"

Blaine had felt the anger, that _should _have been strangled with all the other emotions by the dope but apparently hadn't been, boil inside of him.

"Aren't you the ungrateful one here?! AREN'T YOU?! JUST THE FUCKING PERFECT DAD, THAT'S WHAT YOU ARE! JUST A PEACH, JUST A FUCKING-"  
"ENOUGH!" Mr Anderson had pushed Blaine harshly backwards, who was too affected to keep himself standing upright, and he'd collapsed with a thump as he collided with the wall behind him.

"I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS IN MY HOUSE!" his father had continued, walking closer to Blaine, who was staring up at him with widened, frightened eyes. Tears were suddenly streaming down his face, and he was shaking violently as he pressed himself against the wall. He had just been pushed, and no drug other than death would be strong enough to prevent a reaction from that, after what happened to him. He had been terrified as his father spoke.

"You have ten minutes to gather your stuff, Blaine, and leave this house. Don't think about coming back until you're done with _that, _and I mean completely finished. Go to your brothers or that _boyfriend _of yours's place, I don't care. Just get out." Blaine still remembered the way his father had spat out the word 'boyfriend', and it made him sick just to think about it.

Then he'd gathered some of his stuff in a big duffle bag that until now had been stashed away in the back of his closet. His fear and affection from the drugs and alcohol had been blocking his mind and his tears his vision, so he'd just grabbed some random clothes and stuffed them in the bag together with a couple of bottles of alcohol, his small bag of heroin, and a couple of cigarette packages.

Just as he'd been about to leave to room, he'd noticed the stuffed dog laying on his bed, and quickly grabbed it, hiding it under his coat. Then he'd stumbled down the stairs and through the living room. His parents had been nowhere to be seen. _Of course not._

Everything had been unclear and smudged together as he drove without turning on the lights, and several other cars had honked when he drove in the wrong lane or passed at a red light. Then, just as he'd gotten on the freeway, he'd lost control of his car, and driven off the street and into the tree. He didn't really remember anything from after that other than darkness and his fathers cruel words repeating themselves again and again inside his head.

Then he'd woken up in the car some time later, once again bloody but in a different place than last time. This time it was his head. Even though it was not the same as last time, the sticky feeling was still too much now that the drugs had worn off, and he'd opened the door and vomited onto the ground. He didn't remember crawling to the backseat, but when he woke up, he was there, freezing and hurting everywhere.

Then, he'd started withdrawing himself. But it had been terrible. At first, the cigarettes had been enough, but only for a couple of hours. The pulsing just calmed him down, it had nowhere near the effect of any drug or alcohol. Monday and tuesday he'd spent near the car, just walking around, going anywhere but the bars. Well, not anywhere. Anywhere _deserted, _he'd go_. _But it had always ended up with him either drinking himself from his senses or doing the drugs he'd tried so hard to keep away from.

Then, wednesday, he'd finally made it. He went the whole day without anything, except for the cigarettes, but he wasn't really feeling guilty about that, even though he probably should, and he'd even made it sober through the night. He'd had no idea how he did it, but somehow, when thursday morning came, he was still completely sober. He'd felt so good. His thoughts were still plaguing him, but he had been _so_ proud. And in the rush of winning, he'd thought that he could make it to school. Just that little victory had made him believe that it was all over, that he could now return to the life he had before Jeremy. _How could you possibly be so stupid._

Then, when he'd made it there, he'd regretted it completely of course. He may have been sober, and that was great because he for the first time in many days had a clear mind, but that also meant that his newly developed phobia for contact with other people was back, worse than ever. Everything had been too much. He'd been handling it well, though, not showing at all how stressed and panicked he felt every time somebody had brushed against him, shaking hands hidden in both locker and pocket, attempting to shut out everything and everyone around him out, but then Finn had happened.

He'd _touched _him. Just his shoulder, but it was unexpected, and Blaine had been so scared. And he felt so stupid for it, because damn it, it was just _contact_, but he just couldn't help it. The touch just reminded him of _everything, _and when he tried to draw away, he'd fallen on his bad shoulder. It had just hurt _so bad. _And suddenly, everyone had been staring, and the space he'd felt before was gone with the wind, like a rubber band that had been stretched to it's limit, and then burst.

Finn's second attempt to touch him had been too much, and he'd escaped the only other way he knew than drugs, lately; running.  
Of course Finn had found him, though. He should've just left as soon as he had the chance, back to his car, back to being numb, but his legs suddenly wouldn't bear him and the horrible thoughts had already been darkening his vision, and he'd had to sit down on the cold, snow covered ground.

Finn had been kind, trying to understand, and Blaine felt bad for flinching away from him like that when he knew that he just wanted to help, but he just couldn't stand the thought of someone touching him.

Then a new thought had hit him, taken over his mind. He _shouldn't _feel sorry for flinching. He shouldn't feel bad. _Finn_ should be the one to feel sorry. Finn didn't deserve his pity, Blaine deserved _his._

"

Why would ___you _care? It's none of your business! ___None of you care__!"_

As soon as the words had left his lips, he'd regretted them. He'd been thinking stuff like this lately, but he would never admit it to anyone. Except he just had.

He'd clasped his hands over his mouth, mumbled something that he couldn't remember and quickly left the scene. He never meant to say that out loud. Because it wasn't true. He shouldn't think like that. It was true, none of them cared, but he shouldn't blame them for it. Why would anyone care about a faggot, a cheater, a slut?

Somehow, he'd managed to make it all the way to his car, before collapsing. He'd locked the doors like he always did. Even though he knew, that if someone wanted to get in they would find a way through a locked door, it made him feel safer.

But it had been so cold. The wind had been roaring outside, easily entering his already freezing car, and he'd begun wishing himself back home. He'd quickly shot the thought down. You don't have a home, Blaine. Your father made that very clear.

So instead, he sniffed some of the heroin from the bag, spilling lots of it with his trembling hands, completely ignoring his inner voice telling him not to do it. It was soon drowned in the buzz.

But even though it'd made him feel better, it had still been so cold, and there was no alcohol left to make him feel any warmer. His shoulder had been hurting worse than when it actually got injured, and at last, he'd just let himself lay there and sob from the pain, into the car seat. Everything had been cold. Everything had been blue and freezing.

As he hours later bitterly realized that he couldn't get up, he'd slowly begun to accept his fate. He didn't cry. Maybe dying would be pretty good. Maybe it wouldn't. Right then, he hadn't really given much thought to it. The only thing that had been holding him in a last thin string attached to reality, had been the Margaret Thatcher dog that he had been clutching closely to his chest, not quite remembering why. But he hadn't let go. He'd felt that it was important.

When Burt had come and rescued him from the freezing car, he hadn't realized what was happening until he was on his way somewhere in the truck. Even then, he still hadn't quite figured out what was going on. He'd been too far away, drugged by both the heroin and the cold that had still been everywhere, paining his body as the heat had begun to return.

The only thing that had kept him from dozing away completely, had been the dog. Soft, but very palpable in his tight grip.  
They'd driven for awhile when they'd suddenly turned and driven into some garage. Here, they'd stopped.

Everything had been blurry, and the house he'd stumbled his way into, he hadn't recognized, even though he had a feeling that he should. Then finally, when he'd made his way up some steep stairs, it had felt like his vision had suddenly cleared, and everything around him he'd suddenly recognized. One word had sprung to his mind; Kurt.

Everything about this room had reminded Blaine of him, Kurt, and everything that he'd been trying to keep out these past days.  
The few pictures that was still on the wall, the warm colors, the candles placed all over the room, it had all been something that he'd shared with Kurt, somewhere he'd been with him. And it had made him sick;

That he was now there, and Kurt wasn't, that he was using up Kurt's space, but mostly, that he knew he wasn't right. Not one bit. Kurt would want him to be better, of course he would, but Blaine knew that he didn't deserve it. He was a slut, a cheater. He deserved to feel miserable, he'd deserved to just die in that cold car. But even though, the people who should hate him more than anything, took him in, helped him, offered him care and a place to stay. And they shouldn't.

So when he felt a cold hand on his burning forehead the next morning while he lay there in the much too familiar bed, thinking back on the previous days, he jerked away. And groaned aloud as his shoulder accidentally bumped into the pillow, causing a world of pain.  
"Shh," he heard someone, a woman, say, as she quickly readjusted the fabric around his arm, so it wouldn't move again. "Lay still or you'll just make it worse."

But Blaine couldn't. He remembered. He knew where he were, he knew who he was with, and he couldn't stand it. He knew that he should feel safe, here, with these people, but he didn't. He couldn't.

His eyes fluttered open, and, like he'd guessed, he saw Carole bended over the bed, looking at a thermometer she'd just removed from his armpit; She looked concerned, and once again lowered her hand distantly to feel his forehead. But she was too close, way too close, and Blaine felt the nausea well up in him again. He flinched and looked at her, eyes widened.

"Please, C-Carole," he said, his voice utterly hoarse and damaged. "D-don't touch me."

She looked so hurt as he uttered these words, and it killed Blaine to know that it was his fault, but even though, she slowly drew back, dragged a chair to the bedside and sat a few feet away.

She was scrutinizing Blaine, and he looked down, blushing. He knew that she was good at figuring out people; that was her thing, but he didn't want her to figure out what was hiding behind his facade. Not this time.

It was weird, this. The woman he'd once felt so safe with, he was suddenly afraid of. Both her touch, but also her pinning gaze that could break down the worst criminal and figure out the truth from the best liar.

When he'd still been with Kurt, he'd spent so much time there, with Kurt's family, in Kurt's house, and it had been like a second home to him. It had felt more like home than his own ever would. Carole had known, even though he'd never told her. She'd known that he wasn't as okay as he looked on the outside, she'd known that things at home weren't quite as they should be. But she hadn't judged him. That had been the amazing thing. She'd just been there, and that one time when he'd broken down crying, when Kurt wasn't there of course, she'd been there to hold him; no questions. Of course, she'd asked afterwards, and of course Blaine hadn't told her the truth, but even though, he knew that she knew. She had been like the mom he never quite had, that person he could tell nothing and everything at the same time.

And then suddenly Kurt hadn't been in Lima anymore, and even though the Hummel-Hudsons were always welcoming him there, it didn't feel right to come there alone, even though he wanted nothing but to just watch a game with Burt, have a cup of coffee with Carole or play playstation with Finn. Now, it just felt completely wrong to be there. These people shouldn't like him anymore. They shouldn't help him. They were supposed to hate him. And therefore, he didn't feel safe, even with them. Because he knew that this could stop any second. They could just send him right back into the cold and loneliness if they wanted to, which they should want to, and he didn't want to get his hopes up for something false._  
_  
Blaine sat up slowly, avoiding any movement of his right arm, and looked at his twitching hands. He wasn't quite at his senses yet, and therefore the barrier keeping all secrets and feelings inside his head, hiding them from the rest of the world, couldn't block out the question that he wanted to ask so badly;

"Why are you doing this?"

Carole frowned in concern and sighed as she realized what he meant. _Why are you helping me?  
_  
"We care about you, Blaine." he snorted. "Why is that funny to you?"

He finally looked up, disbelief in his red and swollen eyes. He was about to say something, but quickly the mind barrier kicked in, keeping him from doing so. He just opened his mouth, closed it again and blushed. "Blaine?"

He didn't answer. If she wanted to tell him something, she could just say it, she didn't need his concent to speak to him. Maybe she was just finally going to kick him out.

"Blaine, why are _you _doing _this_?"

The question was right on and unavoidable, asking about everything he didn't want to answer, that he probably wouldn't ever want to. Of course, he _could _just refuse to answer, he figured, so he did. He just turned his head further away, so she couldn't see the tears forming in his eyes.

He wanted to tell her. God, he wanted to tell her _so bad, _but the voices in his head kept telling him that he shouldn't. That he wasn't worth it, that he deserved this, and he knew that they were right. But that didn't change how lonely he felt with everything stored in his head and his head only.

"Please, tell me what's wrong," Carole pleaded, but didn't go any closer. She knew what would happen if she did. "What happened to you?" But Blaine just shook his head, concentrating on not letting out the sob that was trapped in his throat. He wouldn't cry. He shouldn't.

"Blaine, please. I care, we care for you. We need to know-" Blaine snorted again at the words, and she stopped herself. "Why is it funny, Blaine? We care, of course we do, why is it something to laugh-"

"Because you shouldn't!"

Blaine couldn't hold it in anymore, and for a moment the barrier was broken down. "Not after what I did! You shouldn't care you shouldn't help me, you should hate me, I'm a monster and I can't-" a sob interrupted his shouting, and quickly turned it into soft cries instead.

He tried, he really tried, but he couldn't stop, and he couldn't get out any words, either. It all just became whimpering and mumbling, so eventually he just stopped trying and just let go, not caring that someone was watching. Well yes, he did care, but it was kind of too late to act as if nothing was wrong.

Carole tried moving closer, not able to just sit and watch while the usually secure and put together boy broke down, but Blaine moved further away, and she thought that she heard the words "don't" and "please" coming from in between the sobbing, so she stopped, still just watching as Blaine's crying finally slowed down, became less hysterical and then completely faded away. It was heartbreaking.

Seeing the boy that once felt so safe here, suddenly so scared and insecure made Carole want to just pull him into a hug and tell him that it was alright, but she knew that she couldn't. She just didn't know why she couldn't, or why he was so broken and it was killing her. Blaine _should _feel home here like he'd always done, he should feel wanted, but he didn't. She could see it, she could sense it, how he just felt lost and trapped instead.

Now, he was sitting curled up into himself, hands wrapped tightly around his knees, shaking slightly and breathing heavily and slowly. He looked so, so alone.

"Blaine.. I need to know-"

"No. I can't, I'm so sorry, but I can't," he said, head still hidden in between his knees. His voice sounded to used up, so full of grief but still fierce like he was still trying to act strong, and it was unbearable. "P-please don't ask anymore, I w-wont answer your questions anyway, I-I'm so sorry C-C-Carole, but I just-"

"Okay." Blaine looked up, surprised, his sweaty forehead forming a frown. "I wont ask," Carole continued, and nodded slightly, closing her eyes.

"But please, Blaine, just let me look at your shoulder. I couldn't check it while you were sleeping, you have be sitting up and awake. I promise I wont ask any questions about what happened to you, but in return you have to promise me to let me look."

Blaine hesitated, and his breathing speed increased slightly again. He felt pressured, trapped.

"Blaine, please. I wont do anything to you, I promise. Whatever happened to you, I wont do that. If I get too close or too personal just tell me so and I'll stop, okay?" Blaine looked into her eyes and saw nothing but honesty and concern, but as he answered, once again his gaze fluttered around the room.

"Y-Yeah, okay, I.. I guess you could, um.." his voice faded, and he looked terrified just by the thought of Carole touching him, _looking _at him, but he knew that he had to. His shoulder had been like this for way too long, and if he ever wanted to use it again, now was probably the time.

Still keeping eye contact, Carole sat herself carefully on the bedside, and lifted her hands. Blaine flinched slightly at the movement, but was clearly trying not to, and she looked at him, awaiting his concede.

"Is it okay, Blaine? Can I?" she asked, and Blaine swallowed a lump and nodded almost imperceptibly.

_It's okay, Blaine. She's not going to do anything, it's just a touch. A simple touch._

He closed his eyes chanting reassuring thoughts to himself inside his head, as her warm finger gently touched the bare skin on his right arm, slowly pushing away the blanket covering his shoulder. She didn't gasp, because she'd already seen it the day before when she took off his shirt, but it was still a shocking sight:

The area all around the shoulder blade was dark and bruised, some of it turning to a sick shade of yellow, and the bone was sticking out, looking like it was bend in the wrong direction. She sighed; her assumptions had been true. It was definitely dislocated, and had probably been so for awhile.

"When did this happen?" she asked worriedly, and Blaine let out the breath that he'd been holding.  
"I-Um, for about a week, I think."

Carole bit her lip. _A week. _That was a long time.

"And you didn't go see anyone after it happened?" It was Blaine's turn to bite his lip, and he shook his head. _Don't break down, don't tell her, stay strong, she can't know-_

"Can you tell me what happened?"

Blaine stiffened in her grip, ready to jerk away, but then remembered their deal and shook his head stiffly instead. No, he couldn't tell her. And she kept her part of the deal, too. She didn't ask further into it, and just kept examining his shoulder closely.

Sometimes she moved it slightly or turned it a little too roughly, and Blaine would scream out or groan, but then she would just stop immediately. A few times, she got a little too close, but when Blaine stiffened or asked her to, she would just move away from him until he was ready to carry on. Finn came down at one point, but Carole softly told him to go as she sensed Blaine's uncomfortableness, and he left the two with their privacy. After awhile, Carole finally drew back. There were tears in Blaine's eyes both from the pain, but also because it was much harder to be close to another person than he'd thought it would be.

He wanted to, he did, he just felt so vulnerable and exposed, because he knew that if she decided to, she could do anything she wanted to him. She could kick him out, but worse, she could hit him, she could lock him in there, she could take off all of his clothes and do things to him Blaine wouldn't ever speak of, not even in his mind, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to do anything about it. He also knew that he should feel safe, but he just couldn't.

"Blaine, you have to go see a doctor."

A doctor. Blaine's eyes widened, and he looked up at her, stuttering his way through the plead forming in his throat.

"N-n-no, please, no d-d-doc-doctors, I c-can't, t-they'll ask, t-they'll.. They.. They'll..." his voice faded as he stopped himself. _They'll know. _The doctors would know, they could find out, they weren't like Carole. They would ask questions, and they would probably get them, one way or another.

"Relax, Blaine, take a deep breath," Carole told him, looking into his eyes, that were looking anywhere but back into hers. His breathing was rapid, and Carole gently grabbed his good arm, this time holding it firmly.

"Blaine, look at me," she said, but he still didn't. "Look into my eyes, and tell me; do I look like a person who would try and fool you?"

Blaine did as she told him to, and his breathing slowly returned to the normal speed. He frowned and huffed, but shook his head. "N-no," he stuttered, not knowing where she was going with this. It wasn't completely true. He wanted himself to believe that it was, like he used to, but he couldn't. He couldn't trust _anyone _anymore, not completely.

"Good, because I don't want you to think that I would ever do anything to hurt you. Because I wouldn't." Her voice was almost a whisper. "And I need you to believe me when I say that I _want _to help you, and that I care. We all care.

"Your shoulder is dislocated, and it's already growing back together the wrong way. You have to go to a doctor to get it fixed, and I promise you that they wont ask questions. I'll tell them not to, okay?"

Blaine nodded almost unnoticeable, and swallowed.

"Good. Now, will you please come with me downstairs and get something to eat?" He shook his head again, and Carole sighed deeply. "Burt and Finn wont ask questions either, Blaine. Not right now. But you are way too skinny, don't think I haven't noticed, and you need to eat, just a little bit. Come on, I'll help you." Blaine wanted to shake his head again and just hide in the pillows, but for some reason he didn't. He knew he wouldn't be able to eat anything, every time he tried just came right back up, but even though he decided that it wouldn't hurt to at least go with her. So he got to his feet by the help of Carole, but as they got up, he choked out something like 'I can do it', and released himself from her grip.

At first, he swayed a little, but then he regained balance, and slowly moved outside the room, supported by walls and the doorframe. Carole had left for a minute while he worked his way across the room, and now she was back again with a glass of water and two, blue pills.

"Pain meds," she explained "For your shoulder."  
Blaine swallowed them quickly, and nodded thankfully. The pain in his shoulder was extreme right now, and he could really use something to soothe it.

As he worked his way down the stairs, Carole was right behind him, a little too close for his concern, but he didn't say anything. He just kept it inside, just like everything else, because he knew how hurt she would get if he told her to go. And he didn't want that, if it could be avoided.

Downstairs, Finn was nowhere to be seen, and to be honest, Blaine was glad he wasn't there. He'd been working so hard not to let anyone else see how he felt inside, and he'd broken down in front of Finn, _twice. _And now he was just a wreck of emotions he didn't know how to handle, not without the dope. _The dope._

Suddenly, as he remembered the amazing feeling of carelessness and blissful ignorance when the needle was injected into his skin, he gave a jolt. He had more, he knew so. He could feel that way again if he could just get his hands on the bag that had probably been left in the car, and suddenly, he couldn't think about anything else. He was silent as he forced down the glass of milk that Carole had given him when he'd refused to eat anything, and didn't even answer when she asked if he wanted more. He just bolted up from his seat, drawing all attention to himself as he did so.

"I-um, I'm gonna go to the bathroom," he said hurriedly, and began walking as fast as he could with a hurting shoulder and a fuzzy head towards the door to the back part of the house.

"Are you gonna be sick?" Burt asked, and stood up immediately, too, ready to help any way he could, but Blaine shook his head fiercely.

"No, I just.. Uh, it's urgent," he said and smiled excusably, and Burt sat back down.

Blaine would've never said something like that before all of this, he would never _ever _give people details about toilet visits, but he knew that it was the right thing to say in order to keep the two adults out of the bathroom, and the possible side effects of the pain killers made it all that more legit.

So he walked out the door as fast as he could, and closed it shut behind him. But instead of turning to the right and going into the bathroom, he went to the left, down some stairs and was soon in the garage, on his way to the car in it, hoping desperately that it wasn't locked. He had a vague memory from yesterday of him asking for the duffle bag with all his ''stuff'', but he didn't know if Burt got it for him or not. If he was lucky, he did, and it was still in the car.

He _was_ lucky, he realized as he saw the dark blue fabric in the backseat, and when he tried the door, it wasn't locked. It made sense, though. Everything was probably pretty confusing and rapid yesterday, so forgetting a simple thing like a bag and locking the door wouldn't seem like the worst thing in such a situation. The thought of him being the cause of that situation, though, just made Blaine even more miserable, so he quickly grabbed the bag and hurried back into the house without a sound.

Walking was harder when he didn't have his good arm to hold on to things with, but somehow he made it back to the bathroom pretty fast, anyway, and he quickly shut the door and locked it.

There, he fell to his knees, and opened the bag. He quickly found the lighter, darkly burned spoon and the bag of heroin, and spilled a lot of it on the floor as he poured it onto the spoon, but he didn't care; he needed this badly, and he needed it _now. _He needed to get rid of these feelings, and he needed to build his barrier back up. He'd already broken way too much of it down today, and if he kept going like this, opening up to Carole all the time, she would come to know way too much of the truth, way too quickly. Maybe this phobia for contact was a good thing; at least it meant that he had an excuse for not opening up, not getting too close to people.

He fumbled with the lighter in his shaking hands, but managed to turn it on and keep the flame steady enough for it to stay under the spoon, heating it. The powder melted quickly, and Blaine poured it into the syringe, but when he got ready to inject it, he realized that he'd spilled most of it. So he tried again, and this time he did better. He quickly licked the spoon from any leftovers on there, and then injected the needle into his right underarm, without jostling the bad shoulder. But it hurt, and he screamed out in pain.

Immediately, he clasped his hands over his mouth, but it was too late; he could already hear voices and footsteps from the living room, getting closer. Why did it hurt? Then he realized; he must'd taken too much. There had definitely been more in that syringe than he was used to, and it had been a day since he'd last had a hit.

He heard the door before him being jostled, as everything began turning. On one hand, he wanted to open the door and ask for help, but on the other hand he didn't want to be any more trouble. Maybe, if he just lay here until it was all over with, he could finally find peace and he wouldn't be a bother to the people around him anymore. Maybe, the world would just be better off without him.

Stars were dancing before his eyes, and it felt as if his lungs were being squeezed tightly, like there weren't enough oxygen in the air which he was gasping in, even though he didn't know why. Right in that moment, he wanted nothing but to die. And he felt stupid for it, because it weren't like his problems was that big, but he just felt relieved thinking about it; nothing. If he just died, there would be nothing. Nothing at all, just darkness. No thoughts, no worries, no pain, no nothing.

Then, just before his eyes slid completely shut, the door was kicked open, and the last thing Blaine saw was Burt's terrified expression, as he saw whatever sight met him in the bathroom. It probably didn't look too good. Then everything turned dark, and the lifeless boy fell into strong arms, holding him tight.

* * *

**Cliffhanger, I know, and I'm sorry. But don't worry, he's not dead. I wouldn't do that, not to him not to you guys, not to myself. Things **_**will **_**get better. I don't know when, 'cause I've only just finished writing and spell checking this chapter, but I'll get started on the next one as soon as possible. Thank you **_**so **_**much for reviews, favorites and follows btw, they are **_**beyond**_ **appreciated.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Okay, so I'm not a nurse, and I don't know that much about medical conditions, terms and stuff, but I've researched a bit. I sure don't hope I'm giving false information to you guys by writing this, but I'm sorry if I screw up. Please tell me if I get something wrong, and I'll change it.**

**No new warnings for this chapter, except for maybe vomit (don't worry, no vivid descriptions.) Depression has been mentioned earlier, right? Good, 'cause there's lots of that ...**

**I hope you'll enjoy!**

* * *

_Hurt. _Everything hurt. That was the first thought that sprung to Blaine's mind, as he slowly regained consciousness. Of course, this wasn't a new thing though the pain meds should've done their fair share, but it hurt in a different way this time.

For one, the pain in his shoulder was worse than usually, but somehow it seemed better anyway, and the wound in his head was covered by something – probably a bandage – that was damp and cold. It was nice; it helped soothing the headache that was razing inside his head.

But there were new things hurting, now, and Blaine couldn't quite identify the pains. They were located in the lower parts of his stomach, and felt like razors were scratching and cutting him from the inside. He groaned.

"Blaine? Are you awake?"

He didn't answer the unfamiliar voice; he figured that the slight nod would be enough, and apparently it was.  
The woman at his bedside said something about 'being right back,' and then she exited the room, leaving Blaine with just his thoughts. And as he slowly began realizing where he was, they didn't turn out very happy.

He was in the hospital, his sight confirmed when he slowly opened his eyes, scrunching them half closed again at the sudden light.  
The walls were white, the floor and the blanket covering him were too, and a chair and a tray with untouched foods on it were placed beside the oversized bed he was laying in.

It was probably morning, he decided as he looked out the window to his right, relieved that it was there. Not knowing what time a day it was, had for some reason always made him nervous.

He turned his head slowly away from the window, as he heard a noise from the other side of the room; someone was entering.  
Blaine's eyes widened in horror as he saw who the man slowly approaching him was, and frantically looked around the room for a way out. But there was none, he knew. Right now he was fuzzy headed and he felt like he could faint any minute, so if he just got up he probably would.

But he did _not _want to see _him _right now. Frankly, he didn't want to see anybody, but that kind of wasn't an option, so let's just say that this man was very far down on his list of people he'd want to see right in that moment. If _he _was here, it meant that he knew. About the drugs, about all that, and Blaine knew all about this mans annoying habit with admonishing.

"Hey there, B," Cooper's dark voice rang, and he smiled sadly as he sat down in the chair beside the bed. He gently placed his hand on Blaine's, who jerked strongly away immediately and way too fast. Just the movement itself made everything turn. Cooper frowned.

"Okay, wow. They told me that you didn't like contact so much, but mine, too? It's _me, _Blaine."

His voice was pleading and broken sounding as he spoke, and Blaine shifted uncomfortably in the bed.

He wasn't _afraid _of Cooper. But then on the other hand, he wasn't exactly comfortable with his touch and presence either, and he felt so bad for it. Cooper was his _brother. _Who he trusted, who trusted him. Who was there for him, who'd, judging by the looks of things, just left his once in a lifetime career opportunity to be there, and Blaine felt guilty. But he just couldn't touch him. He didn't have the guts to take his hand, he didn't have the courage, even though he wanted to.

Cooper sighed and placed his hand awkwardly on his own lap, and Blaine stifled a yawn and blinked rapidly, trying to fight the sleepiness that was creeping in on him.

"I'm sorry," Cooper suddenly said, and Blaine finally looked at him, frowning. Why was _he _apologizing?

"I shouldn't be mad at you for not wanting to touch me. I get it." _What? He gets it? Why? _"You know, if it's true, then.. I understand.. And I also shouldn't be mad at you for _this," _he gestured to the whole room, meaning the situation Blaine had put himself in "_,_but I am.I wont lecture you now, though, because I can tell that you're not perfectly awake and maybe it's too soon, but I will, mark my words. I know that you're hurting and I want to help you, but you're-"

"Why?" Blaine cut off his brothers babbling after awhile, immediately stunned by his own voice; hoarse, jittery and unused. He continued anyway. "Why do you get that I don't want you to touch me?"

He just managed to get the sentence out, before he had to gasp for air. He was losing his breath over some simple talking. _Come on, Blaine, get in the game._ But Cooper didn't laugh at, if anything he looked trapped; like a deer caught in a headlight. He opened his mouth a few times before saying anything, as he realized that he'd said too much.

"B-Blaine, you're tired, you should go back to sleep-" he ended up saying, but Blaine, even though he looked like he would pass out from just talking, cut him off.

"No, I-I'm not." Blaine tried to sound convincing, but it was true. He _was _tired, so tired he felt like he could faint from it any moment, but he just needed Cooper to answer him, right now. He had a bad feeling about this. "Why-why do you get it? You shouldn't, it's weird, I don't-"

"It's not." It was Coopers turn to cut him off now, and Blaine looked at him with glassy, confused, unfocused eyes. "It's not weird, Blaine. But right now you can't have all the answers. We've had to wait to get ours, and you will have to, too. Don't worry, I'll be here when you wake up again. Okay? I wont leave."

Blaine wanted to protest, he wanted to know what Cooper was talking about, but he couldn't get the words out right. Instead, he finally let his heavy eye lids drop, and drifted off to sleep.

Cooper watched silently as all the tension finally left his little brother's body, and he relaxed fully into the big, soft bed. But even while asleep, that constant frown was still placed mercilessly on his forehead.

Cooper sat in the chair, still watching Blaine as he drifted back to thoughts of his own; when he'd gotten the phone call_.  
_

* * *

_"Cut!"  
_

_Thomas Tylerson's voice rang through the crowded studio as he slowly rose himself from the chair he was seated in before. Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at him._

_"Good job today, everyone! It's time for lunch break, we'll meet here again in fifteen minutes." Everyone started moving again, grabbing their stuff, leaving to the cafeteria or unpacking their brought lunch, and Thomas quickly grabbed Cooper as he was on his way to his bag._

_"Anderson!" he said cheerfully, raising his chin slightly to make up for the height difference; he was a short man, even shorter than Blaine, and his belly was phenomenally big. Sometimes Cooper wondered how those tiny legs of his could even bear him._  
_"Good job today. I expect the precision and passion you've been showing this week in the future as well."_

_"Thank you, Thomas. It's great here, really," Cooper answered with a wink, and turned his back to the director, making his way to his stuff in the other end of the room._

_Truth be told, Cooper __had been having a great week. Everything had just been going good, better than usually that was, and Coopers mood had been splendid. That was until Burt, Kurt's dad apparently, had called._

_At first Cooper didn't get why he was calling. He knew what happened, he knew what Blaine did, and he really had expected something else than what Burt told him. Maybe some shouting about how much Blaine had hurt Kurt, and that for some reason it was Cooper's fault, but that was not at all what the man was calling for. He'd called to tell Cooper that Blaine was missing._

_Cooper wasn't mad, he couldn't be, not with the situation Blaine was possibly involved in, but he _was_ slightly irritated at his brother's terrible timing. Right now, when Cooper was in Europe, working on the biggest project of his life, Blaine had chosen to get depressed or whatever was going on with him._

_Apparently, Blaine had been kicked out. It had been enough for Cooper to just leave his entire career behind, but Burt, had insisted that he didn't come back just yet. After all, they hadn't heard Blaine's side to the story, as he was nowhere to be found, but apparently their father had mentioned drugs. _Drugs.

_Cooper still didn't believe it. Their father must had made that up, because there was no way Blaine would ever get involved with anything like that._

_As little, He'd always been lecturing Cooper, even though he was the younger one, about being careful not to drink or smoke __anything, as it could ruin his voice and life, whenever Cooper went to a party. Yeah, with time he'd relaxed more about it, drinking a little himself every now and then, but even then he was still careful. Cooper knew how he felt about smoking and drugs. He'd seen the way Blaine cringed whenever their aunt went to visit, and she went outside to smoke a cigarette._

_There was no way their father was telling the truth._

_But he was still arguing with himself whether he should take a flight to Ohio or not. Blaine was in trouble, even if there was drugs involved or not._

_Burt had told Cooper about his breakdown in school and that his shoulder and head was injured. He'd also told him that they didn't know where Blaine was, but that where ever he was, he'd been there for several days, as his father had kicked him out this monday._  
_This had made Cooper furious, and he'd tried calling his parents several times, but had ended up screaming at a confused receptionist telling him that "Mr. Anderson didn't want to talk to him." It hadn't surprised him. Of course his father wouldn't talk to him about it._

_Of course he and their mom would just distance it all, act like there was nothing going on like they always did with every other family related problem._

_But Cooper was split. He knew that Blaine probably needed him right now, but he also knew that he had Burt, his wife Carole and that Finn kid. He felt so bad for not just being the perfect brother, hopping on the first plane to Ohio, but to be honest, he didn't want to mess up this job. It was selfish, yes, but this was a once in a lifetime experience that would hopefully kickstart his career, and he needed that badly. He wasn't in need of money; his parents would gladly pay for everything as long as they wouldn't have to deal with it themselves, but he needed his own life, his own career, his own money. He needed to break out of the Anderson family, and start over on his own._

_He rummaged through his bag, until he found what he was looking for; his cellphone. But as he pressed the unlock button and the screen lit, a jolt of concern shot through him. There were fourteen missed calls from the same, unknown number, but no messages. He could tell by the number that the caller was in America. Weird. Wasn't it like three in the morning over there? Quickly, he dialed back._

_"Hello? Is this Cooper Anderson?" a man asked on the other end. It was Burt, Cooper could tell by the voice, but he sounded weird; exhausted._

_"I-Yes, Burt, It's me. What's wrong?" Cooper could feel his heart pounding rapidly in his chest as he awaited the answer for his stupid question. There wasn't necessarily anything wrong._

_He's probably just calling to tell you that everything is fine, Cooper, calm down._  
_But he wasn't, Cooper realized with horror as the next sentence was spoken;_

_"Cooper, I don't know how to tell you this.." Burt's voice was silent, and Cooper could hear a sigh. He began to feel nauseous as he imagined the worst scenarios possibly in his mind._

_"What? What's going on?" Cooper demanded to know. "Where's Blaine? Is he okay? Is he-"_  
_"Blaine's right here," Burt interrupted, and Cooper sighed in relief. "But he's not okay." He felt himself tense again, and his insides turned to a lump, weighing heavily in his stomach._  
_"W-what do you mean? Is he-is he hurt?"_  
_"I told you about the shoulder, but I think he's hurt further than that. I-I mean, psychologically. H-he's just...I mean..I don't know where to start..." the voice on the other end faded._  
_"Please, Mr. Hummel, just tell me."_  
_Burt sighed again, swapped the phone to the other hand._

_"I found him tonight. He was in his car, and.. It's below zero degrees outside. He'd crashed against a tree, and well.. He was okay, freezing, but okay. Except for his shoulder, of course. It's really bad and we have no idea what happened to it, but Carole says that it has to be treated soon, or else it wont ever function again." Cooper gasped. Blaine couldn't loose the ability to use his arm, he_

_lived for playing the piano. It was the only thing besides Kurt and singing that would always make him happy and light up his face._

_"Well, anyway, he's unconscious right now but.. Cooper, when he was awake, he acted weird and.. I'm pretty sure he was on drugs."_

_Cooper's eyes widened. No. no no __no. "He's got track marks all over his body, he flinches at any kind of contact.. We have no idea what's wrong, he wasn't really able to speak properly, but he's definitely not okay... Your father wont take him, Cooper, he made that very clear, so Blaine is staying with us. But I really think he needs someone, someone that he trusts-"_

_"I'm on my way." Cooper had already grabbed his coat as he hit the 'end call' button, and while packing all his stuff he started a new one, arranging the soonest flight for him to attend. He didn't tell anyone before he left; he didn't need to. There was no way Tylerson would let him keep the job even if Cooper explained things, but right then he couldn't care less about anything. This was his little brother._

_This was Blaine, and Blaine most definitely needed him more than he needed a fresh start and a successful career._

* * *

_Cooper got the second call when he landed in the airport in Ohio. The one telling him that his little brother had had an overdose of heroin and that he might die._

_The drive to Lima had been worse than terrible. Worse than Cooper had ever could imagine. Worse than words could ever explain.  
He just sat there with his phone on his lap, waiting for that call, waiting for someone to tell him that Blaine hadn't made it, that he died. It never came._

_It had reminded Cooper of the time when Blaine got beat up after that stupid Sadie Hawkins dance, when he'd just been sitting alone in the reception, waiting for someone to tell him what was going on. His parents hadn't been there. Nobody had been able to get in touch with them._

Blaine made it then, didn't he? _Cooper kept reminding himself, still holding on to that last single string of hope.  
_  
_Then, when he finally made it to the hospital, Burt, Carole and Finn was already there, greeting him with open arms. They told him that they didn't know anything other than Blaine was finally stabilized, and that he'd survived. The rest was family business only, so Burt and Carole didn't know much else, but that little piece of information was enough for Cooper, as he impatiently followed the nurse through halls. Blaine was alive. Blaine wasn't dead. He may have other problems, but right then he was breathing, and that was the most important part. That what was kept Cooper from giving up, that was what kept him going for the entire four minutes it took for him to get to Blaine's room._

_But when finally there, standing outside the room, he hesitated. He wanted to see his brother, of course he did, but for some reason, he was afraid. He didn't know why and of what, but he was, anyway._

Gather yourself Cooper, he told himself_, and forced his body through the light wooden doorframe, into the small hospital room. It wasn't a pleasant sight that met him, there._

_Cooper had always hated hospitals. He'd never been in one of the beds himself, but Blaine had been in there more than enough to make up for that. When he was younger, he'd always gotten himself hurt one way or another due to his clumsiness, and he'd ended up in the hospital way too many times, each time scaring the living crap out of his older brother._

_Cooper looked at him, hating the way the bed was way too big, making his already small body look even more vulnerable and fragile than it already was. As if that was even possible._

_He looked terrible. Track marks were, just as Burt had told him, spread across his right arm and neck, some bigger than others. His body __was really smaller, Cooper realized as he carefully lifted the blanket covering his body. He' was wearing a pair of sweatpants and nothing else, which meant that his bare chest was exposed completely. And it wasn't pretty._

_Blaine, who'd always had a healthy appetite and worked out on a regular basis, had a good looking body. Great abs and biceps from boxing, and Cooper had always admired his body, secretly, of course. But Blaine always ate all sorts of crap never got fat, and Cooper had always envied that ability. Now, he wished badly that Blaine didn't have it._

_This new Blaine was skinny. No, more than skinny, he was completely ripped of any possible fat there had been on his body before. His arms were thin, and Cooper was sure that he would be able to hold around it with just one hand, and his ribs were clearly visible. In fact, almost every bone on Blaine's body was visible, and it looked disgusting._

_You could even see it in his face; cheeks slightly less round and chubby, cheekbones way too defined for his age. He was smaller, but somehow it just made him look older, especially with that constant, slight frown on his forehead._

_He was pale, and to put it bluntly; he looked like a corpse. But the steady- if not a little weak - breathing beneath Coopers hand that now lay on his chest, assured him that he was alive._

Alive.

* * *

Blaine silently watched the man, sitting with closed eyes and his face hidden in his palms in the chair beside his bed, who obviously hadn't noticed that he was awake. Blaine was glad. It was nice to have some time to gather his thoughts before having to talk to anybody for real.

This was all so weird. He felt like he should be relieved that he survived, after all it wasn't like he had been _trying _to kill himself or anything, but for some reason, he didn't. He felt like this should be an eyeopener, something to help him go on with his life, maybe even return to how it was before Jeremy, but nothing had changed. He felt just as miserable as he did before, if not even more. He was _craving _the dope to keep away his thoughts and nightmares, but instead he was stuck here in the hospital.

He didn't know much about his condition yet. Since the first time he woke up, he'd only woken up twice and then he'd been way too tired because of the pain meds - that were probably pumped loads of in his body - to even bother asking any questions or to even open his eyes.

Even though he'd barely been awake, he'd overheard the doctors talking about some surgery, and he assumed it was his shoulder. He'd taken a look at it quickly himself, when he woke up, and it didn't look like it was sticking in the wrong direction anymore. So they'd fixed it while he was unconscious, or else he just couldn't remember. He was guessing the last one, because he'd also heard the doctors talking about some amnesia, caused by the drugs.

It made sense; the days leading up to the overdose were all fuzzy, and he could barely remember any of what happened in the bathroom. He remembered the thoughts that went through his head in that moment clearly, though. Maybe because the same ones were still repeating themselves in his mind. He tried to ignore them, but still they were there. Nothing had changed.

Except maybe it had. Cooper had been so weird earlier when he woke up, and Blaine had an unexplainable feeling in his chest that he knew something that Blaine didn't. Something he hadn't told him, and Blaine needed to know what it was. He closed his eyes one more time before opening them again, and cleared his throat. Cooper's head snapped up immediately, his eyes scrutinizing. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say anything, but Blaine was faster.

"Why do you get it? Why do you get that I don't want you to touch me?"

He repeated his question from yesterday, and it made Cooper shift uncomfortably in his seat; he clearly didn't want to answer, but he'd said too much yesterday and he would have to, now. The question was unavoidable, and Cooper knew that he couldn't just change the subject, but he really didn't want to ask what he was about to ask. But he had to. He just had no idea how Blaine would react, and he really didn't want to know, either.

_You have to ask him. Get it over with._

"I honestly have no idea how to put this, B.."  
"Just tell me. What is it? Did I get injured beyond repair or something?"

"N-no, it's nothing like that Blaine, it's-I need to ask you something."  
_Ask me something? _"About what?" Blaine croaked, still with that feeling like something was completely wrong.  
"I-uh.. It's about last wednesday." Blaine's head shot up and he petrified in his sitting position, eyes widening. _No. _It couldn't be _that. _They couldn't possibly know, could they?

"W-what about it?" Blaine cursed his high pitched voice and stuttering mentally for giving away his panic.  
"Well.. They-uh, the doctors-they... You probably don't remember, something about memory loss... But they undressed you, Blaine." _God no. No no no no _no. _This isn't happening. _"A-and they found... _something. _You know, down there.. You had to have surgery - you were awake, but you know, you don't remember - because the skin was literally _ripped apart_, and-"

"Stop!" Blaine's voice was still hoarse and weak, but it was most certainly not silent anymore. He couldn't continue. Blaine wouldn't allow it.  
"P-p-please, C-Coop, leave it.."

He was staring at his violently shaking hands with wide, glassy eyes. Cooper couldn't stand the sight of his little brother like this. But if what the doctors had told his was true, and it most definitely was, then he needed to.

"No Blaine," Cooper said, wanting to at least grab the shaking boy's hand or something, but restrained himself. "You can't keep doing this. I'm just helping you lift a burden-"

"N-no C-C-Cooper, don't. Please. I-I can't... People will k-know and I... You can't know, j-just leave it h-here, please-"

"No. Blaine I need to ask you."

Blaine just shook harder, clearly trying to hold in tears and sobs. He shook his head frantically, clasping his hands over his ears. "Blaine, please," Cooper pleaded, knowing that Blaine could still hear him perfectly. "Just look at me."

But Blaine didn't look. His eyes looked everywhere but into Cooper's, and he looked ready to jump out of the bed any moment. Cooper would have to take a different approach, or else Blaine would end up hurting himself, so slowly he sat himself at the edge of the bed, watching as Blaine tensed even more beside him.

"C-Coop, please d-don't touch-" He winced as Cooper did so anyway, but only slightly. It was nothing but barely a touch at the fingertips, but it still triggered Blaine. Not as much as he'd thought it would, though. Well, this _was _Cooper. Cooper, who'd just taken an eight hour flight to come see him, Cooper who'd given up his career to come here, Cooper who was always there to talk to, even if it was just at the other end of a phone. Cooper that he trusted. That he _should _trust, at least.

"Please, Blaine," Cooper said again, snapping Blaine out of his thoughts and back to the horrifying reality. He just shook his head again, shutting his eyes tightly. _Don't don't don't don't. _"I'm going to ask you now, okay?" _No, not okay. Stop. _"And I need you to answer me. I'll only ask one time. I promise, I'll leave it till you want to talk. Now answer me,"

Blaine just kept shaking his head furiously, knowing that there was nothing he could do to prevent the question from being said out loud, that _word _he wouldn't even say in his mind, actually being used. He couldn't. _I can't. Stop. Don't, please-_

"Did you get raped, Blaine?"

His brother's voice was soft and caring, but even though it felt like a slap across the face. Raped. He was raped. Raped raped raped raped _raped. You were raped, Blaine. Raped. Another man physically assaulted you, he fucked your body til it shattered, he madeyou suck his cock against your will, he broke your shoulder, he broke _you_; he raped you._

Blaine had stopped shaking his head at this point and stared up into Cooper's warm eyes, as he nodded almost unnoticeably. Everything was quiet.

Then finally, he broke down.

Tired of keeping of the act, the tears finally felt into his palms and heart wrenching sobs escaped his mouth.

But it was not at all like it should be. Cooper should be holding him, Cooper should be comforting him with his touch; his warmth, but Blaine wouldn't let him.

When Cooper tried to get any closer, Blaine just pushed him away.

He wanted it. He wanted the touch and contact _so badly, _but he was just so _afraid. _So instead, he was stuck with himself like he'd always been when neither Cooper or his parents were there for him, which had been way too often. Not even Cooper had been there much in the past, always off for some new job or experience that Blaine wasn't old enough to join in on. Always alone. Always lonely, longing for that touch that was now impossible to get.

* * *

"We have to tell Kurt."  
Finn's voice was not very loud, but everyone sitting in the living room in the Hummel-Hudson residence could hear him perfectly because of the awkward silence between them all. Carole slowly rose her head and nodded. "I was thinking the same thing."

"Why?" Cooper, who was placed in the lean chair a few feet away from the television, asked.

"Kurt's coming home for thanksgiving." Cooper sighed. He knew what happened between his little brother and Kurt, after receiving a phone call from a sobbing Blaine both the night _it _had happened, and then again the night Kurt left him there in the park. He was not so sure this was what Blaine needed right now. "But we'd have to tell him anyway. Just because he's mad at Blaine doesn't mean he wouldn't want to know what's going on with him-"

"But he's not _just _mad," Cooper interrupted. "He broke up with him, because Blaine _cheated _on him. I'm not defending Blaine or anything, he's definitely an idiot for doing that, but he's not in a good place right now. I don't think being faced with his mistake like that is a good idea.. He regrets it a lot, you know. You've heard him talking about it when he blurts."

Burt sighed and shook his head. "No, of course. But what else can we do? Kurt can't stay in New York, he promised Rachel and Brody some time alone for once.. It's just, it's been a tradition since forever that the whole family does thanksgiving together at home and ever since his mom died we've just been-"

Burt was suddenly interrupted by a shout of pain from upstairs, and everyone flinched. Carole quickly got up, grabbing a bottle of pills from the table. Then she hurried upstairs, and soon the sounds stopped. Everyone was completely tensed again.

"Mr. Hummel-" Cooper started, but Burt cut him of before he got to continue.  
"Burt, Cooper, you can call me that."  
"Well, _Burt... _We-we can't keep doing this. This, just living in your house, using up your time-honestly, you guys are giving up so much just for us, and I don't-"

"Stop." Burt's voice was firm, and he looked deep into the flickering eyes of the normally so confident man before him.

It was weird how much Cooper Anderson had changed after everything had started. Not that you could blame him, though. Imagine your own brother not trusting you enough to let you even _touch _him. Being _scared _of the people he should feel safe with. It made Cooper insecure. "We care about Blaine, okay? Don't worry about it. You have your own hotel room, so it's not like you take up any space, even though there _is _room for you. Blaine does take up a lot, but it's okay, because we _want _to help him. None of you are a burden, okay?" Cooper nodded his head gratefully and placed it back in his palms.

It had been three days since Blaine had left the hospital. Three long, exhausting days. Cooper had wanted to take Blaine with him to his hotel room, but Burt and Carole had told him not to, offering to take him in themselves. At first, Cooper had felt like he couldn't accept it. And he still did, but he was starting to accept the fact that these people actually cared about Blaine despite what he did, and words couldn't explain how grateful he was.

Because, truth be told, he wasn't sure if he would be able to take care of Blaine himself. Their parents still wouldn't take Blaine back home, claiming that since he was eighteen, he was old enough to get himself out of that mess, which meant Blaine had no home whatsoever. And neither did Cooper. There was no way he was living with those monsters that called themselves his parents.

Currently, he was living at the motel three hours away from there, refusing to cause anymore trouble for the Hummel-Hudsons by living in their house, too. But he was there all the time, helping out with Blaine. Because Blaine really _was _trouble lately. Of course he was, and with good reason, but it was still pissing Cooper off, how rude Blaine was lately. But it was natural, Cooper knew, and he tried not letting it get to him. But his feelings were kind of mixed.

For one, he felt bad for his brother. Of course he did. He felt so extremely bad for him. Blaine still didn't talk much about what got him into this situation at first, at least not when he was awake, but Cooper knew. Of course he did. He knew about the way Blaine had been abandoned by everyone.

First, by his parents and even, though he didn't really like to admit it, by Cooper himself. Then he'd had Dalton and the Warblers and eventually, Kurt, which Cooper knew was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He'd seen it in his brother's eyes when he'd been with Kurt, when he talked about him, even in his voice when they just chatted over the phone, he could feel the sparkle, the happiness. Then he'd lost him, too, not even being able to seek back to the Warblers because they were all moving on without him.

He'd lost what must'd felt like everything at the moment, and on top of that, all his friends had abandoned him. The Hummel-Hudson's, the closest thing he'd ever had to real parents, were no longer people he could visit or talk to, because he'd hurt their son less than a week ago, when it all started. Cooper couldn't possibly imagine how lonely Blaine must'd felt (and still did, even though he shouldn't.)  
But then, he had to go and get raped, too. Before it happened, Cooper hadn't even thought of it as a possibility that a _boy _could get raped, but when he'd asked the doctors, they'd explained. It was horrible. Being told how it went down, knowing that it had happened to _his little brother, _and imagining what Blaine had gone through in the past week, dealing with all this alone, made Cooper sick. There had been _no one _there. He'd been completely alone.

So, Cooper could _understand _why Blaine had turned to alcohol and drugs, though it still seemed so unlike him to do something like that. That didn't mean he thought it was okay. Not one bit. But it was kind of hard to be mad at Blaine when he was in this state; because it weren't good.

Ever since Blaine got out of the hospital, he'd been in a bad mood. No, that was an extreme understatement. He was angry every time he wasn't crying or just acted numb and careless, at everyone. But mostly, and that was the worst part about the anger, he was angry at himself. Being rude and unpleasant to Cooper and the Hummel-Hudsons was not _okay, _but it was natural. Blaine was withdrawing from drugs, and irritation and mood swings was normal. But being mad at himself, that was not because of the withdrawal, and Cooper figured that it'd been going on for awhile.

Blaine had always had a bad habit of blurting when he was tired or sick, and he was extremely much of both.

Withdrawal was hard on his body which was already weak, and Cooper was actually fearing for his brother's life. He was _so _skinny, still losing more and more weight as days went by.

He constantly had a bucket placed by the side of Kurt's old bed where he spent most of the day, in case of surprise illness, and there was lots of those. They tried getting him to eat, but every time they _finally _got him to, he just vomited it all up again. Both because he hadn't really eaten much the past weeks and his system was completely out of balance, not used to taking in much food any longer and that combined with the withdrawal making him sick was just so much worse than it could've been. And that said something. So, even if he didn't eat, he just vomited up stomach acids.

He didn't sleep much, either. Nor did anyone else, but none slept as little as Blaine did. Most of the time, he just couldn't. He couldn't fall asleep no matter how tired or exhausted he was, he would just lay there, eyes open. But other times, he simply refused to go to sleep. He knew what happened if he did; nightmares. Every time he managed to fall asleep despite the insomnia, another problem caused by withdrawal, he would wake up either screaming or crying, most times both.

And someone would be holding him, someone who'd helped him to wake up from the terrible memories and dreams infiltrating his mind, and he would push them away strongly, leaving himself alone once again. They would always stay in his room, though, as close to him as they could without scaring him. Even though Blaine couldn't stand their touch, they knew that he felt safer when they were there. He'd grown to trust them, just not enough for them to touch him.

It was hell. The pain, everywhere, his shoulder which of course hadn't healed yet, his stomach, growling for food but bringing it right back up if it got something, his constant headache, and just aching _everywhere_.

Everything was blurry and unclear, even his thoughts, from the thousand different types of medicine he was on, which gave him trouble controlling his movements, so everything was sore, too,from bumping into things. His knees were bruised from hitting the bathroom tiles in front of the toilet daily and his knuckled from punching the wall to hurt himself.

So, he had that habit of blurting when he was sick. He did so a lot, and usually forgot about it afterwards, too. Which was probably pretty good, since he said a lot of things he wouldn't want _anyone _to know.

When one night when he'd awoken from a nightmare, confessing to Cooper that he was trying to figure out a way to kill himself, they'd all started being extra observant. No, not just that, they were guarding him like he was the most wanted criminal being held in a prison. There was no way he was going to get the chance.

Before withdrawal, Blaine had at least had the sense left in his brain telling him that hurting yourself was a bad idea. That was now gone. He was so mad at himself, that every time he got the chance, he would hurt himself – punch the wall if he had the strength - throw himself to the ground, hurt his head on something sharp; a corner of a table, for example. There was no way they were letting anything _really _sharp, like a knife, anywhere _near _him.

He _hated _himself. That was at least what he told Cooper, Burt and Carole when he weren't really himself.

It was so weird, that he had two different sides to himself lately.  
There was the old Blaine, still trying to keep up that facade even though it was useless, who was just broken, never crying when he was fully conscious but crying a lot at night when he couldn't remember anyway, and then there was this new withdrawal Blaine who was just angry _all the time _at _everyone. _Snapping at people, hurting them, but never physically. There was enough real Blaine left to not do that. Only himself. Days like those, when he weren't himself, he tended to hurt him and usually Burt and Cooper would hold him tight even though they knew they shouldn't, until he got tired of struggling, too exhausted to even try to escape.

Blaine was broken. The dapper, charming and polite Blaine was long gone, and he'd even stopped trying by now. He was a wreck of feelings and mental wounds, and he had no idea how to handle them. Except for the drugs, of course. They would help him, like they'd done before. But he wasn't allowed to, and there was no way he could escape the house, not with all the guarding. But even if there weren't anyone there, he wasn't sure if he could make it outside before collapsing with all the meds flowing around in his body, making him dizzy and tired.

So everything was just nothing but pain and sorrow. Without the drugs or the alcohol, he couldn't any longer prevent his mind from thinking _those _thoughts. Remembering stuff that he wanted nothing but to forget about, reminding him of what a slut he was, how he destroyed the best thing he'd ever had by cheating, because he was _lonely, _how he was using up everyone's time and space with his stupid problems, how fucked up he was, how he didn't deserve to live, how he didn't _want _to live. Because frankly, he wanted nothing but to die right now.

Even though he hadn't told them, he had a feeling that they all knew anyway, and after awhile he started suspecting his unhandy ability to blurt and forget for betraying him, once again. He'd probably told them everything, every little dark thought in his mind, and it was killing him that they most likely knew all that he was thinking. Everything, about how lonely he felt and how no one cared and how no one _should _care because he was just a worthless piece of crap, how he felt about Kurt, how he'd cried himself to sleep every night, how he'd broken the trust that he now longed _so badly. _He didn't think he would've talked about the rape. Maybe he had, but Blaine felt like the barrier in his mind, preventing him from thinking about it and even more talking about it, was too strong. But still, he dreamt about it.

Every time he slept, he dreamt about Jeremy. Sometimes he just remembered it all, experiencing it over and over again, but sometimes it was different.

Sometimes, it was not in the car, but by a river. Everything was nice, until Jeremy changed, his voice becoming terrifying and his eyes turning dark as he started to take off Blaine's clothes, and the water running would turn into thick blood, raising until it surrounded them both, strangling Blaine.. But the worst one was probably the one where he was just watching. Nothing happened to him, but that was nowhere near good.

Instead, he was _outside _of the locked, black volvo, unable to move as he saw Jeremy remove _Kurt's_ clothes in there, twist his arm the wrong way and making Kurt scream in pain.

Screaming himself, trying to get in, watching as Jeremy made Kurt cry as he fucked him, way too fast, way too hard...

He couldn't ever remember waking up from one of those, because those were the worst ones. He always did, of course, but the memory loss made him forget immediately, forget what he told whoever woke him, forget what happened. Maybe it was better that way.

Truth be told, Blaine didn't _want _to remember. Just forgetting was better than actually remembering any details, it made him feel a little of that amazing numbness the drugs had given him.

The numbness that death would give him completely.

* * *

**A/N: So, that was depressing. Yeah, I don't know if it's my own life reflecting (don't worry, it's not **_**that **_**bad at all) but anyway, this chapter turned out really dark. Of course, it has to in order for things to get better.  
There will be some Kurt in the next chapter, and we will get on with the story, I just really needed to use this chapter to make sure I explained Blaine's feelings and such correctly.**

**I hope you like the story so far, as said; reviews, favorites and follows makes my otherwise kind of miserable existence so much better! Thank you so much for reading.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Not much to say about this one. Hope you'll enjoy. The warnings are pretty much the same as for every other chapter.**

* * *

Y_ou're not there, you're not there, _Blaine told himself, an attempt to calm down his racing heart and mind. _It wasn't real. Kurt is safe. Jeremy isn't here. _Kurt _isn't here.  
_Except, maybe he was. Blaine had just heard his voice, hadn't he? A gasp. Something. Whatever it was, it had sounded like Kurt.

He was laying in the bed, blanket and sheets kicked to the floor, shaking. His hair was dripping wet with sweat, and his body cold and warm at the same time. Maybe there were tears. Was he crying? He probably was. The dream had seemed so real, just like it always did. Just as terrifying as always. _Snap out of it, Blaine, _he told himself. _It's the fever; The fever makes you see things, hear things that aren't there when it's bad, you know that._

But when he turned his head with a jolt at the sound, it just seemed so _real.  
_Kurt, standing there at the foot of the bed with a bag in each hand, staring agape at Blaine, perfect as ever with his hair in a tiny swoop, looking so surprised. Shocked. It looked so realistic. Except, it was all blurry and turning, and Blaine's head was fuzzy. _It's a dream._

"K-Kurt?" Blaine asked, not trusting his vision one bit. Kurt's eyes widened even furtherer at Blaine's voice, and he dropped the bags to the floor, but he still didn't budge from the place where he was standing.  
"Blaine?" he asked, his voice like a choir of angels' singing.

-

"Blaine?" Kurt asked, his voice hoarse and high pitched from the startling. Blaine was in his bed. Blaine, his ex-boyfriend was apparently currently residing in _Kurt's _home, _Kurt's _room_, Kurt's _bed. This was so not going according to plan.

He'd been supposed to come home and have a lovely thanksgiving with his family, he was _supposed _to sleep in his own room, just like his father and him had decided last week.

Friday morning, he'd gone to have breakfast with Rachel and Brody, and it had been so damn boring. Sure, those two lovebirds had been having a great time, but Kurt had mostly felt like an unnecessary third wheel, with them kissing in inconvenient places, holding hands, Kurt walking in the background rolling his eyes at the cheesy compliments that flowed in endless streams from both their mouths.

Rachel hadn't meant to, of course she hadn't, she'd just kind of forgotten that he was there, too, and eventually Kurt had decided to take an early flight back to Ohio. No harm in spending a little extra time with your family, he'd thought.

When he'd arrived at the Hudmel house at 2 Am, he'd decided that surprising them all in the morning would probably be better than waking them up then, and silently locked himself in, sneaking his way up to his old room, ready to collapse on the bed. Except, there had already been someone sleeping there.

Blaine. Blaine, the one boy who he hated and loved so much at the same time, Blaine his _ex,_ had been, and was still, laying in his bed, shaking violently as if he'd just awoken from a horrible, horrible nightmare. Now, normally Kurt would've just walked right over, telling him to get the hell out, but he just couldn't. Not with the way Blaine looked.

His arm was in a sling, and he wasn't wearing a shirt, which meant Kurt could see the horrible bruising forming around his right shoulder, traveling down his back. He could also see his usually fit and beautiful - _not beautiful, you're mad at him, remember?- _torso with toned and soft linings of muscles, which did _not _look the way anymore.

He was way too skinny, and almost every bone was visible. It made Kurt sick, and he'd gasped when he'd first seen it, as he entered the room. This had made Blaine turn his head to look at him, and that had broken Kurt's heart even more. His hair was a mass of dark curls, messy and sweaty, his face sweaty, too. It had also gotten more defined, cheekbones and jaw musculature much more visible than it should be, but his eyes were what really had captured Kurt's attention. The sight was heartbreaking.

They were glassy, ready to break with tears any moment. The normally so happy and cheerful eyes were nowhere near what they used to be like, instead they were red and puffy and _hurt. _They widened as they fastened on Kurt. There was so much pain in there, not even being bothered to be hidden. So much regret and sorrow. So unlike Blaine.

It was both heartbreaking and shocking, and it had completely distracted Kurt's mind from wondering about what the hell Blaine was doing in his room, in his _bed_.

Then Blaine had called his name, his voice hoarse and croaky, like it hadn't been used properly for awhile.

He didn't get out of the bed or apologize for laying there – if he even could, he looked way too weak to go _anywhere _right then _–_ he just called Kurt's name in almost a _needy_ tone, saying it like he was asking a question, and started shaking harder, as more tears began flowing down his cheeks. A look of realization struck him, as if he'd only realized Kurt was actually there, now.  
He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but didn't seem like he could get the words out, and just closed it again.

Kurt was petrified, standing there, just watching as Blaine broke down completely. Only when a single, heart wrenching sob escaped the teenagers lips, he was snapped out of it, and without a second thought, Kurt kicked his shoes off, crawling across the bed to Blaine. He couldn't just stand there and watch, not like this. Blaine looked like he needed someone desperately, and Kurt couldn't bear to see him this broken. He wanted to do something, he _needed _to do something. So he crawled closer to Blaine, ignoring the voice of sense and reason in his head telling him not to, and being careful not to hurt his arm, he picked the boy up in his arms, holding him tight.

Eventually, Blaine started crying for real.  
Sobs fell from his mouth, and finally, he just let them. After all, what harm would it do? He felt safe for once, right there with Kurt, and let himself relax completely into the other boy's hug, crying hard into his chest, Kurt's chin resting on top of his head. It felt so good. It felt like it should feel, when you cry.

It hurt. The remnants of his dream still there, threatening him, scaring him, but he was there with Kurt, who he trusted, who in this amazing dream like world apparently trusted him enough to come hold him, and he felt safe. For the first time in a long period of time, he felt like he didn't have to worry, at least not for now, because Kurt was there; protecting him.

* * *

This was weird. Holding your ex who you were supposed to be mad at, soothing him as he cried because of some reason you didn't know. Kurt felt like he should leave, like he wasn't supposed to be there, but every time he tried to detach himself, Blaine cried harder, begging him not to. Begging him to stay.

Kurt wasn't sure if Blaine was even awake. He'd seen Blaine cry before, of course he had, but this time was different. Usually, he would stop after a little while, apologizing because he'd broken down, and Kurt would tell him that it was okay, that he needed to get it out, and Blaine would look at him with those thankful eyes, grateful to Kurt's understanding. But this was different.

It sure seemed like Blaine needed to get it out, something which Kurt had no idea what was, and he was desperate for Kurt to stay; like his life depended on it.

So Kurt kept sitting with him, ignoring the sharp fingernails that were digging into his skin through the sweater and the tears soaking his chest, until Blaine finally seemed to be asleep again. Only then, Kurt looked up and noticed a shady figure standing in the doorway, watching him with a disbelieving yet worried and sad look.

Kurt quickly detached himself, not missing the way Blaine immediately curled up into himself as he left him, covered him with the blanket draping his tiny body, before walking unsteadily but targeted to the man in the door.

"What the fuck is going on, dad?" he hissed, and Burt flinched at the cursing. Kurt never cursed, like, ever, unless he really wanted his point through.

Burt shushed him, casting a quick glance to Blaine who was finally sound asleep, and whispered himself as he spoke. "Come downstairs, I'll explain."  
Kurt quietly, but as fast as he could, went down the stairs, and seated himself in the sofa faced to the lean chair, crossing both his legs and arms. Burt sighed, and sat in the chair before Kurt, who was staring at him with a pinning gaze.

"Explain," Kurt said, voice icy, awaiting an answer. He lifted his eyebrows when it didn't come right away.

"Um," Burt said dumbly, trying to figure out where to start. He'd completely forgotten that he was coming to town with all the fuss about Blaine. "Kurt..I-I don't want you to be mad at me now, okay?" he said, looking at Kurt, who snorted. He sighed. "Blaine is staying here. He got kicked out by his father-"

"W-what?" Kurt's eyes widened, and a frown created on his forehead. He damned his concern. "Why?"

"Well it's.. It's kind of a long story."

"I think I can keep up."

Burt sighed. _Always so stubborn. Just like his mom.  
_"Guess I'll just start at the beginning, then," Burt sighed and swallowed a lump. "When you and Blaine broke up, he didn't get treated very well." Kurt snorted defiantly "Now I don't wanna see any of _that, _Kurt, you asked for the story and I'm just telling it. I want you to know that I'm not defending him, but this isn't easy for him, and we had to take him in. Okay?" Kurt sighed, but nodded, reluctantly. He _wanted _to know the story, he was just mad at his dad for not telling him _anything _at all. Of course he was.

"Okay. Now, where was I? Right, he didn't get treated well. I don't know how, but everybody in school apparently found out why you guys broke up," Burt cast a quick look at Kurt, but to his relief he looked shocked. So he hadn't told, apparently. "-and they weren't nice to him. Called him names and such. Even the kids in the New Directions just ignored him. They were mad at him, you see, for doing that to you." Kurt didn't feel thankful. Blaine hurt him, yes, but he didn't deserve _that_. Bullying; that was everything the New Directions should be against, and they'd done nothing about it, instead, they'd encouraged it. He reminded himself to scold them later.

"Anyway, he didn't have anybody. No one at all, you need to understand that. His parents weren't there, Cooper was in Europe and of course you weren't really the right person to come to, his friends had left him.. And, Blaine, he... He turned to drugs." Drugs? _Drugs?!_ How? What!? Blaine was _against _such things! He was probably the most anti-drug person you could find except for Kurt himself!

"W-what?" Kurt stuttered, unable to keep up the ice queen act anymore. "W-why would he do that? That's so unlike him! I-I-I't doesn't even make any sense-"  
Burt nodded, agreeing, and closed his eyes for a second before continuing. "I know, that's what we thought, but he.. Um... God, I have no idea how to put this.." Burt sat for a long minute, gathering his thoughts, before he got to the point. It was better to just say it. "Something happened that triggered it, he..." Burt cleared his throat once. "Kurt, Blaine got raped."

Raped. The news hit Kurt like a slap across the face, rang in his ears, drowning out everything else. _Raped. _Blaine. Sweet, happy, gentle Blaine, had gotten _raped.  
_Then another thought him hit, worse than any else, pestering Kurt's mind, ringing loud and clear in there, and he started to feel nauseous. _No. It can't be._

"D-dad, w-w-when did it.. When did it h-happen?" It couldn't be _that. _It couldn't. _Please don't be _that_. Please. Please tell me it happened yesterday. Please say that it happened last weekend. Please say it happened any other day than-_

"Last wednesday."

Kurt got to his feet faster than you would've thought possible, and barely made it to the toilet before he threw up everything he'd eaten that day. Burt ran after him, sighed as he saw his son on the ground, retching up the remnants of dinner, and gently rubbed his back. When Kurt was finished, he attempted to pull him into a hug, but Kurt wouldn't budge. He was shaking terribly, and his eyes were wide and unfocused.

"Kurt, I know that it's a lot to take in. It's terrible, yes, but Blaine needs someone to trust right now and he-"

"He does." Kurt cut him off, voice weak and silent as if he was about to cry. "He needs someone, he _needed _someone to trust, and I weren't there. He couldn't trust me. He couldn't-"

"What are you talking about, Kurt? Don't you dare blame this on yourself-"

"He called me, dad. He called me wednesday night, and I-I told him t-that h-h-he should s-stop calling me. W-w-we misunderstood him, d-d-dad. Oh god, we-we t-t-thought he was drunk and j-just b-bragging about some other g-g-guy he'd h-hooked up with-Dad, he needed me, a-a-and I weren't t-t-there, I-I just refused him! He called me right after, w-when he needed me most, and I just ignored him! God, I was so s-selfish, I'm s-s-such an idiot, I didn't even t-think-"

"Kurt, stop! Please, stop!" Burt voice was gentle but firm and clear as he spoke, and Kurt stopped babbling, and finally looked into his fathers eyes, gaze slightly wavering. "This is _not _your fault. This is nobody's fault but the guy who did it, okay?" Kurt didn't look convinced, but he nodded anyway.

"Now come here," Burt said, and gently pulled his son into a hug, where he sobbed for a long time, safe in his fathers arms. When his crying started to stifle after a little while, Burt pulled him out by the shoulders and looked at him.

"I'll tell you the rest tomorrow, okay?" he said, but Kurt shook his head.

"N-no, please, tell me now. I need to know what happened to him."

Burt hesitated, wondering if Kurt could take it, but nodded and flushed the toilet quickly before they left to the living room again. Kurt was strong.

When situated in both their seats again, Burt continued. But when he got to the part where Blaine had the panic attack in school, Kurt interrupted him.  
"Wait, panic attack?" he asked. "Why did he have a panic attack?"

"Oh yeah," Burt said, nodding as he remembered that he hadn't told Kurt that part yet. "That's kind of a huge problem. He doesn't want – no he's kinda scared of – people touching him. Well, actually really any contact at all. We don't really know _why _exactly because he hasn't said so, but the doctors say that it's common after rape, usually it's just not as extreme as Blaine's case-"

"Wait," Kurt said, interrupting again. "That's not true. I held him right before, remember? He _wanted _me to. He leaned into it. He asked me."

Burt nodded again, frowning. "Yeah, I know. I'm kinda glad you were able to, actually. He doesn't want anybody else, not even Cooper, touching him when he's upset. He freaks out every time we try, and it's damn hard not to when he breaks down like you saw. When he wakes up from those nightmares he usually screams and cries, but he won't let any of us touch him. And even when his shoulder hurts, if he jostles it or something, he just won't-"

"His shoulder, what happened to it? It looked terrifying." Kurt once again interrupted and looked at Burt, who got a wondering look on his face. He was deciding if he should tell Kurt, but figured that it would be better.

"He-um, he said that the guy did it, when he-uh-handcuffed him... Twisted him around. We don't know who he is, Blaine won't say. Poor kid still believes it's his fault, everything that happened to him."

"What?" Kurt couldn't believe his ears. "H-he thinks that all this is _his _fault?" He felt the anger well up in him, but it wasn't tormented against anyone, so it mostly just got him frustrated.

"Yeah," Burt said, and his expression dark. "He won't blame anyone else than himself. I-I don't think I should be the one talking to you about all this, though. He'll talk to you when he's ready."

"But how do you know? You said he doesn't talk much about it all, and I quote, avoids it completely if possible." Burt smiled at his sons precision, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"He doesn't. But apparently he's a blurter. You of all people should know that." Kurt did know that, and he smiled slightly by the thought. It'd never been any big things Blaine had revealed or said when he blurted, but he often said things that otherwise he wouldn't. It was like his facade shattered, because he was too tired to keep it up, and Kurt had secretly always liked it. Blaine, being so free of boundaries, so honest.

Burt continued telling Blaine's story, how he'd found him in the car, freezing. How he'd overdosed and ended up in the hospital, how the doctors had figured out what was going on, figuring out what must had happened.

"Now, I told you that withdrawal is pretty hard on him," Burt said, and Kurt nodded. "So there's a few things you need to know.  
"He's really sick, both fever, but also to the stomach, so he, um, he throws up a lot. But most importantly, don't be hurt if he yells at you or something like that. It's not him. Withdrawal changes him, and sometimes he's just.. Not himself."

Blaine yelling. It was hard to imagine. Kurt had seen him yell very few times, but he never raised his voice at Kurt. He was always this gentleman, dapper and neat, always so polite to other people. Blaine being genuinely rude, that was just not something you could really imagine.  
Burt sighed and looked Kurt into his eyes.

"God, Kurt, you don't have to stay. We're helping him, but man, it's exhausting. You have New York, you have Rachel and your job, and it's just-"

"No, dad. It's fine, I can just cash in a few weeks vacation at work, Rachel will be fine. I _want _to help. Besides, aren't I the only person who can touch him? You might be needing that."

Burt looked at his son with concern printed in his eyes. "Look, I know he let you touch him, Kurt, but don't get disappointed if he won't next time. He was barely awake, and.. I just don't want you to get your hopes up, if it was a one time thing. He's not that easy to fix, it's gonna take awhile."

"I know." Kurt swallowed a lump, but smiled sadly. "I.. I'm mad at him, I can't deny that. But I _do _still love him, and I can't stand being in New York knowing that he's hurting back here, I-I just can't. I want to help, I _need _to help."

Burt nodded. "Okay, kiddo. But for now, let's get you fitted in Finn's room, okay? You'll have to sleep there, I don't really think that we can move Blaine right-"

"No, no dad, it's totally fine. Actually, I'll just go get my bags, I know where the mattress is. See you tomorrow?" Kurt mumbled halfheartedly, already on his way up the stairs again.

He quietly entered his old room, and to his relief, Blaine was still sound asleep in the oversized bed. Then he noticed something odd, and slowly got closer, narrowing his eyes in the dark to see, but had to choke back a sob when he realized what it was.

Held in Blaine's grip, tugged tightly into his chest, was the Margaret Thatcher dog, that Kurt had given him last year at senior ditch day. Blaine's nose was nuzzled into it, as if he was smelling it, and it broke Kurt's heart.

He hurried out, bags in his hands; he couldn't be in there anymore.  
He wanted to help, he really did, because of course he wanted Blaine to get better.

It was just so damn hard to just forgive him like that when he'd hurt him so bad.

-

It smelled like Kurt. Everything smelled like Kurt, _he _smelled like Kurt.

Blaine was laying in his, actually Kurt's, bed, eyes wide open, staring at the far left wall.  
He was actually feeling okay compared to the last couple of days, but something kept him from getting up. _Kurt._

He'd been there. Blaine was sure of it even though the memory was fuzzy and unclear like a dream. He'd been there last night, and he'd held Blaine, who hadn't been scared of the touch. It had been amazing, that he'd for once been able to just let go and let someone comfort him. But it wasn't just _someone, _that was the problem.

It was Kurt. Kurt, his ex. Kurt, who he'd cheated on, whose love and trust he'd broken. Kurt, the only person he felt safe with, didn't, _shouldn't, _want to have anything to do with Blaine.

Except he was here, wasn't he? And even though Blaine wanted him to hold him again like last night, he didn't want him to be. Kurt shouldn't be there, Kurt shouldn't see him like this, Kurt should stay in New York, blissfully unaware of everything that had happened to Blaine.

But now he knew. _He must know_, Blaine told himself. He'd seen Blaine when he was his most vulnerable, unable to even control his own emotions because of that _stupid _medication and that _stupid _nightmare and that _stupid_ fuzziness, and Burt probably had to tell him everything afterwards.  
Why was his ex sleeping in his bed? Why was he acting like an emotional wreck? Why would Burt want to take care of this boy who'd hurt Kurt so bad? Blaine would like to know the answer to that one, too. Because frankly, he still had no idea why Burt even bothered to have him. Why he 'cared' about him, like he said he did. He accepted it now, though.

At first, he'd been reluctant, but everyone had convinced him that he was no bother, even though he knew he were. But he could barely even walk on his own, how would he make it on his own, _outside_? The thought was terrifying, and he didn't really play with it much, but sometimes it struck him anyway. _The outside world._

He was just living inside, practically, never going further than the back yard when he weren't too sick. Imagining going back to school, even just going out on the street, just the mere _thought _of it, was terrifying. But he wanted to. He wanted to, so bad.

He wanted his old life back, even the time when he felt alone, before all this anxiety, no, _phobia, _of other people's touch had hit him, he wanted to go back before Jeremy, because that's when it all had _really_ started.

If he couldn't get_ that_, if he was just forced to lay inside all day, with nothing but his miserable thoughts to keep him company, he wanted nothing but death. But even that, he couldn't get.

So now, he was stuck in a house with a boy who should and probably did hate him more than anything, sick, unable to escape because he was too _fucking _weak, his thoughts creeping into his mind at very inconvenient times.

He was forced out of his bubble of thoughts as Burt poked his head into the room. Blaine, who had planned pretending to sleep, but now realized that it was too late, sighed.

"How are you feeling, kiddo?" Burt asked cheerfully, as if nothing was wrong. They always kept up a good mood around Blaine, because his depression was usually more than enough to completely destroy any good atmosphere. They all tried, they really tried to cheer him up, but they really couldn't. It didn't work like that.

"I-um... I feel better than yesterday," Blaine answered and attempted a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. He relaxed his face muscles again. He really did try to make this the best situation as possible for everyone around him, but it was damn hard. He tried hard acting like he was getting better, but he knew that he told them all otherwise at night, even if he didn't remember. He could see the pity in their faces when he put up a brave face, as if they knew that it was nothing more than that, not real.

He just didn't want to be any more of a bother than he already was. On those days when he was just nothing but angry all the time, he didn't either, but he couldn't really control it. That wasn't him, not really, and he hoped that they knew.

"Great" Burt cheered, and Blaine flinched slightly at his loud tone. When he continued, his voice was lowered a bit. "You feeling up for some breakfast?"

For once, Blaine's stomach didn't cringe at the thought of food, and he figured that he'd give it a try. He _was_ feeling better, less sick. It was actually nice for a change to-  
_Kurt. _Blaine had completely forgotten why he was upset in the first place, but now every splint of hope and relief that had been planted in his mind disappeared again. He couldn't see him. He just couldn't. Especially not after what happened yesterday night.

"Is, um.. Is K-Kurt there?" he asked, trying to sound casual, but his trembling voice and stuttering betrayed him. Burt looked at him with pitying eyes.

"He is. Don't you want to see him?"  
_Of course I do, I want to see him, I just don't want him to see me. He probably doesn't, either. Great job, Blaine, you've ruined Kurt's chance to be with his family in the holiday._

"I-um.. It's just, it h-haven't been that long since.. since.. y-you know, and I don't know i-if he'll even w-want to, and I don't know if-if I can, god, Burt I-I hurt him so b-bad-"

"Hey, stop it, son." _son. _Blaine cringed at it. Burt had always liked using that word, and Blaine used to love it. The way it made him feel wanted, the way it made him feel like someone _cared. _Now, he just felt like he didn't deserve it. That word was for someone who was loveable, someone like Kurt. Not an abandoned train wreck, like Blaine.

But Burt didn't seem to notice Blaine's slight movement, or else he just shrugged it off as another case of flinching for nothing. "You don't have to worry about that. You hurt him, yes, but he's not mad." _That's a lie. That's a lie, he is mad. Of course he is. You're just trying to make me feel good._

"He's hurt, but he cares about you, too, and he decided to stay and help out around here a little, since he was already here. Is that okay?" _No it's not. He should go. He should go. _But Blaine nodded, despite his inner conflict.

"O-of course, yeah, sure. I-I just.. Is he downstairs right now?" Burt nodded, studying Blaine's face, trying to tell what the kid wanted.

"Should I tell him to go?"

Blaine didn't want to answer. _Yes. _That was the answer. But he couldn't do that. He couldn't just kick someone out of their own living room, especially not when they were supposed to be having a lovely holiday with their family. _You ruined it, Blaine, you've ruined their family time._

He _wanted _to see Kurt, but at the same time he didn't. Truth be told, he was scared. Scared of getting rejected, scared of hurting Kurt again, scared of getting hurt himself.

He hadn't even noticed that his eyes had filled with tears, and his face reddened completely in embarrassment as he did. He looked down, still not answering, but Burt nodded. "Don't worry Blaine, it's no problem. He can be in his, well, Finn's room, you can see him when you want to. Just stay here, okay?" _Where would I go?_

Burt left the room for a couple of minutes, and soon Blaine could hear two pairs of feet making their way upstairs. He froze in his place, listening. It was Kurt. Kurt was there. He was _right outside his room.  
_  
Blaine heard the footsteps disappear into another room, Finn's room, then he heard a door shutting, and soon Burt was with Blaine again.

"Let's go downstairs?" he asked, and went outside again. Blaine slowly got off the bed, stumbling a bit as he did so. But he_ was _feeling better, and his feet seemed to be more cooperative than usually, so it actually wasn't _that _hard to make it across the room.

He slowly walked to the top of the stairs, where Burt was standing, offering him his arm. He took it gratefully. The contact thing wasn't as bad as it was just two days ago. It was really about trust. He trusted Burt and Carole more – Finn wasn't really there much, Blaine could understand him, who would want to be around _him _anyway right now, and it had just taken a little time for him after the shock for Cooper's trust to be restored – and he had little problem with touching them. Only when it was unexpected, he couldn't take that. But they knew, and would never touch him without his concede. _You're weak. A freak who's afraid of his own shadow.  
_  
When he was upset, though, contact was not something he could take, and that was problematic because then was when he most needed it. Someone to hold him when he felt so, so alone, someone to comfort him. But he couldn't. Being in the vulnerable state of mind he was in when he was scared, touch just increased the fear.

Only, last night it hadn't been a problem. He'd felt so safe with Kurt, there in his arms, just like they used to- _stop it, Blaine. He doesn't need you in his life right now. You hurt him. You don't deserve his comfort.  
_  
Burt helped him slowly down the stairs, taking his full weight on one side, and finally they were down. Blaine kept clutching to his arm even if he didn't need the support, until he was sitting down safely by the table.

In front of him was a bowl of cereal and milk. Normally, Carole would've probably cooked him something, but she knew that the smell would most likely just make him throw up even though it was probably delicious, and Blaine was grateful to that. It wasn't pretty when he had an unexpected wave of sickness.

Slowly, he put the spoon into his mouth and swallowed thickly the substance on it. It felt weird, but his stomach didn't seem to want to push it back up, so he continued. He heard someone, Carole, sigh in relief behind him.

It was nice to finally eat properly. He hadn't for days, because he'd been either sick, tired or too depressed to even bother, and finally it felt like his stomach would actually keep this meal down, allowing him a bit more strength.

He was in a good mood. Better than usual, at least.

It was always worst at night, the flashbacks, the thoughts, everything, but it was always still there during day. Today it wasn't. Somehow, he'd managed to suppress it all, and since the pain meds were working, and also making him kind of fuzzy and oblivious, it was nice to get to think about something other than pain and sorrow. The sky, for example.

"Burt?" He asked faintly, but cleared his throat. Burt turned around to face him. "C-can I go outside?"

The older mans face lit up by his words. Blaine _wanted _to go outside. Just the backyard of course, but he actually wanted to do something. This was a step up, wasn't it? Then his expression changed to concern, and he frowned slightly.

"You sure you can make it, kiddo? Are you feeling up for it?"

Blaine swallowed and nodded, paling slightly by the thought of outside. _There's nobody there, Blaine. It's a private yard. There's a hedge. You were out there just two days ago, nothing happened._

"I want to." His voice was resolute; firm. "I'm feeling much better."

Burt nodded, studying Blaine's face._ Is this a trick? _He wondered, beginning to doubt the sudden change in Blaine's attitude. _He didn't hide drugs or something in the yard, right? _It was a harsh assumption, and probably not true, but he had to be sure. Blaine had done it before, after all.  
"Sure, of course you can," he just said and smiled reassuringly to Blaine. "Cooper?" he then called into the living room, and the man entered the kitchen right away, with a worried look in his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes quickly scanning the room, but everything seemed to be fine.

"No, nothing's wrong. Blaine just wants to go outside."

Cooper lifted his eyebrows, opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again, and merely nodded.

Blaine didn't protest. He knew that they had to make sure that he didn't run away or something like that, _as if I could, _and he had work himself to do, so he couldn't go with Blaine. Even though Blaine knew that it was almost like guarding, it_ was_ nice that Cooper was coming.

Frankly, now that his mind was less clouded and dark, the thought that he'd been playing with for a long time, finally reached surface. He _wanted _to get better. It was just, the road to get there was long and exhausting, and he didn't know if he could even do it.

At the same time, he didn't want to get better. The reason that he'd started with the drugs in the first place was because of his miserable life, and if he quit, wouldn't he then just go back to the misery before he started? Afraid of people touching him, afraid of going outside, dark thoughts and memories clogging his mind. Those things were what he wanted to go away the most, and the easiest way was drugs. He knew that he could, with time, maybe not completely forget, but at least get better and learn to live with it. But again, it took time and it was not exactly a cruise ride.

And then, _if _he really managed to get better, wouldn't it all just be the same as it used to? Maybe even worse. People would still be mad at him, his parents still wouldn't accept him, and he'd still ruined his relationship. Yeah, he could live at home, but it would all be the same. Just worse, because of Jeremy. Because of his parents. Because of himself.

_Stay positive, stay positive, _he told himself, as Cooper warily helped him down the stairs.

"Thanks," Blaine said, smiling at him as he sat himself in the grass, posture straight and smile forced, not genuine. He frowned as Cooper sighed after a little while, shaking his head

"You don't have to do that with me, Blaine," he said, looking intensely at his brother. He elaborated when a confused look appeared on Blaine's face. "You don't have to act like everything is fine. Like you're perfectly okay. It's okay to break down, sometimes, you know."

Blaine was silent for a long time before he answered.

"I don't know what else to do," he then finally said, and looked up into the sky to avoid hiss brother's intense gaze. _That's what you are. A coward. Can't even deal with your own problems._

* * *

Kurt watched the brothers from the bedroom window, as they made their way outside. No, he watched _him, _and he was shocked by the sight.

Blaine looked terrible, just like last night. Only today, he looked worse.

Not physically, there he looked much better and he actually had a little bit of color in his cheeks, no, Kurt could see that he was pretending again.

He'd always done this, even when Kurt first met him. The dapper outside, all around happy and positive person was all him, but Kurt knew that it was also an image that he kept up to protect himself from the world. Or more specifically; the people in it.

He'd never told Kurt about it, but he knew even though, that on the inside, Blaine was scared. Scared of losing, scared of getting lost. It had taken a long time to figure out, but when you spend a lot of time with one person, you get to know them completely, even if they don't want you to.  
So as time went by, Kurt slowly learned about Blaine's past.

When Blaine had first told him about his old school, he'd said that he'd let the bullies chase him away. Nothing more. Then, later, Kurt found out that he'd actually been gay bashed at his own prom. Even then, Blaine didn't tell the whole story. Kurt had to squeeze it out of him in order to find out that he'd actually been hospitalized for 2 whole months afterwards.

So Blaine wasn't the type of person who sought other peoples comfort, even though he needed it, and it was actually pretty damn annoying. He'd never told Kurt when he was upset about something unless it was fairly obvious, always just responding with _it's nothing _or _it doesn't matter_.

It wasn't his fault, though, Kurt had come to learn later on, when Blaine finally started opening up about his parents. Who were never home. Who didn't accept him for who he were, who'd never been there to listen to him. So, Blaine had always ended up dealing with his problems himself, and it had created a bad habit of not being able to open up to most people. Kurt was different, though, Blaine had told him. He listened, he helped, he didn't judge, and when Kurt had started on his senior year, he'd been completely safe for Blaine to trust. His rock, his shoulder to cry on. He'd completely opened up.

And now, here he was, once again building up the facade Kurt had hoped he'd never see again. It was all about trust with Blaine, and now Kurt actually regretted his choice of words the last time he'd seen him. _I don't trust you anymore_. He had of course said it intentionally, knowing how much it would hurt, because he'd_ wanted _Blaine to hurt just as much as he did, even though he probably already did back then, but now, with this new situation, Kurt wished that he wouldn't have said that.  
Blaine had trusted him enough to open up, and that had been a huge step for him. So getting told by the one person, that _only _person that he trusted completely, that he didn't trust him back, must had been hard.

Kurt watched the two brothers in the yard for a while, until Cooper finally said something. He tried listenening, but he couldn't hear what it was. Blaine was silent for a long time, tensing up. Then he said something that made Cooper get a worried look on his face, but he didn't speak up. He just sat there, watching Blaine subtly as he lay down and closed his eyes. Soon, he was asleep.

To be honest, Kurt was glad that his dad had told him to go upstairs earlier, before Blaine came downstairs, because he wouldn't know what to say or even how to act around Blaine, when confronted _consciously _with him.

Of course he felt bad, but Blaine had hurt him, and he was starting to think that maybe staying here wasn't that good of an idea, anyway. Maybe he'd just end up hurting Blaine even worse than he already was.

But tonight was thanksgiving, the whole reason he'd come here in the first place, he reminded himself. After then, he could go back to New York and try to forget, retreating to everyday routines. If that was even possible.  
**  
**

* * *

**A/N: Hope you liked it! Sorry if the next chapters wont come as fast as the first ones I wrote, but I've just started reading**_** The Fault in our Stars **_**by John Green, and I'm getting kind of hooked. It's amazing.  
Also, I'm going on kind of a band camp (not with orchestras, but like, bands) and I probably wont get to write there. I'll start again as soon as I get back, though, and hopefully I'll be faster with the next chapter than I was with this one.**

**Leave a review if you want to, it would make my day, and please do tell if there's anything with my writing that doesn't work out, a word I use too much, anything like that. I'm doing my best, but I'd love some constructive criticism. English is not my native language, and I can always improve ****_something _I guess;)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: She's alive!  
Yeah, I'm sorry for the wait, but here you've got chapter 6. I haven't really had the desire to write lately, but then yesterday I suddenly did. Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy! The warnings are the same as for every other chapter.**

* * *

Kurt froze on his way to the couch as he entered the living room thursday evening, and so did Finn, placed in the lean chair by the couch, and the pale figure sitting in Kurt's eyed seat. For a minute, the two just stared at each other, until the other looked down, cheeks turning deep pink. Kurt cleared his throat.

"Blaine."

Blaine lifted his gaze again, but only for a moment until Kurt looked him in the eye. Then he once again turned it to the football game which he probably wasn't even watching.

"Um.. Hi," he said sheepishly, face completely flustered.

Kurt knew, he'd just reminded himself for the thousandth time. _Everything._

Kurt stood awkwardly for a moment, hesitating, before sitting down on the far end of the couch, since no other seat was available. At this point, Blaine had removed his feet to the ground and was no longer slouching against the lean, but instead sitting up straight even though he looked exhausted. But even though he tried to look put together and calm, Kurt noticed how his thumb immediately started scratching the top of his other hand, where the skin was already starting to break, as soon as Kurt sat down; a nasty habit he'd picked up, that would flare up whenever he got anxious. Which was a lot, with Kurt in the house.

Blaine was keeping up the act again. And Kurt hated it.

It had been six days. Six long and tiring days, ever since Kurt had returned to Lima for the holiday.  
It had been awkward, and it still was. Every time they were in the same room, Blaine would change completely, sit up straighter not saying a word, and the tension would be insufferable. just like it was now. When he did speak, it was staggery and unsure. Even Finn, who would normally be too busy and absorbed by the game, looked uncomfortable. No one was really watching. They were all thinking the same thing.

Kurt _had _tried. He'd tried talking to Blaine, getting closer, but Blaine had put up a thick wall in between them, not allowing himself much time or any personal time at all with Kurt. He knew why.

Blaine had told.

At day, Blaine could control what he did, he could keep up that facade as much and as strongly as he wished, but at night it was different.

It was like the dark changed him, broke down his wall. Especially when he awoke from a nightmare, which was pretty much all the time, he couldn't really control what he did. Which was yet another reason for him to flush red and thickening the wall whenever Kurt was around at day.

Because at night, the only person he really allowed in, was Kurt.

Nobody was able to touch him when he was upset, except for Kurt. So he did.  
Seeing Blaine like that, _hearing _him like that was unbearable, and therefore, being the only person who could, Kurt was there every time to help him calm down.

And when Blaine cried in his arms, he tended to blurt. All sorts of stuff. About how he sometimes just wanted to die, about how disgusting he felt with himself, about how he thought that what happened to him was _his fault_, how he didn't feel like he could ever be near Kurt because he felt so guilty, so filthy, like he didn't deserve to even be _close _to him.

It broke Kurt's heart. The first couple of times, he tried telling Blaine the opposite, telling him that he was wrong, but the boy would just shake his head and cry even harder, so Kurt just stuck to telling him that it was okay, burying his own face in the curly mess, holding the tiny body tight.

He really _was _tiny, and it was becoming quite worryingly how skinny Blaine had gotten.

Thanksgiving evening, Blaine had puked as soon as he'd entered the living room because of the smell of the steaming, delicious foods Carole and Kurt has helped each other making, and even though everyone had tried to forget, carrying on with eating as soon as the mess had been cleaned up and Blaine had returned to his, _Kurt's_, room – Carole's soothing voice telling him that it was fine, that he didn't have to worry about it, and Blaine's unstoppable stream of apologies audible all the way upstairs – it had not been the same. They hadn't really been able to enjoy it fully, because no one could stop thinking about Blaine. After dinner, Cooper – who had by then accepted the Hudmels' offering and moved in - had gone to Blaine's room to check on him, whose mood in the meantime had dropped, and after screaming and shouting at his brother for several minutes about how he wasn't helping at all, how no one was, how nothing was working, he'd ended up throwing a lamp, that luckily wasn't aimed very well and hit the wall behind Cooper. Burt had then joined, and together they'd managed to keep him down.

It hurt, when those things were said, but they all knew that Blaine didn't mean what he said when he was in that state of mind. He never apologized after. He mostly just stayed quiet, and they'd all given up on telling him that it was okay and trying to talk with him about it, because he didn't respond. He was too sorry to even apologize.

He wasn't really eating properly, like, ever.  
Sometimes, he could force down a yoghurt and keep it in, but withdrawal made him sick, much more sick than he should be, and even though it was getting better, food was not something he had much of.

Having him in the house was exhausting. No one really slept properly, though none slept as little as Blaine, and they had to be with him and take care of him _all the time._

Not that they didn't want to. Everyone in the house had something in common; they all cared about Blaine, and they wanted to help him. But it _was _tiring, and even though they tried making it seem like it wasn't, Blaine knew. Of course he did, how could he miss it?

So, saturday night, he'd tried to run away.

It had been three in the morning, when Kurt had heard an odd and _loud_ sound coming from downstairs, waking him from his light sleep, and he'd immediately gotten out of bed to go check on it. He couldn't quite put words on the sound, frankly, he wasn't even sure if it had just been in his dreams, but when he'd made it down the stairs, he'd been glad that he checked anyway. At the end of the stairs, Blaine had been lying, curled up into himself, clutching his leg. It had broke when he tried getting down the stairs himself, and due to his fuzzy state by the medications and his concussion from the car crash which hadn't still quite healed at the time, he'd tripped.

As Burt had driven him to the hospital to get his arm -which had also been messed with in the fall- and leg fixed, he hadn't said a word. He'd just been staring out the window, into the darkness, and Kurt hadn't been sure if he was even awake. That was, until Burt told him "Next time you want something to eat, or water or meds or whatever, just come get me, okay?" and he'd opened his mouth to say something, but nothing had come out. He'd looked completely helpless, so lost in himself.  
"You know, you're making a habit out of injuring yourself-" Burt had stopped talking, noticing Blaine's distressed condition.

"What's wrong, kid?" he'd asked him.

"I..I didn't want water," Blaine had whispered, barely audible, but both Kurt and Burt heard. "I'm too much of a bother." He'd raised his voice to silent talking, and sounded almost pleading as he continued. "_Please, _Mr. Hummel. I keep fucking everything up, I-I can't even get down the stairs myself, you shouldn't take care of me. A-and you all help me so much and still I _shout _those horrible things at you all, who does that?And _you-_" he'd turned his watery eyes to Kurt. _Oh, so he's not himself right now. _"You shouldn't want to be near me! You know what I did! I'm disgusting! You know what happened to me and it was _all my fault_, and y-you keep forgetting but y-you shouldn't, you should-you should-" Finally, the sob had broken free of his throat, and Kurt had leaned over, collecting the shattering boy in his arms.

It was still a riddle to him, why he was the only person Blaine could touch and be touched by unconditionally, but he figured that it probably was because Blaine trusted him fully, and always had. That made him both sad and happy.

Because no matter how hard he tried to show the teenager that he wasn't mad at him, that he didn't think that he was disgusting, Blaine wouldn't come near him when he could control it. And Kurt found it impossible to show him that it was okay, that he _wanted _him to. Especially when he was the only one Blaine felt completely safe with, at least when he let himself. He should let himself be helped.

Normally, Kurt wasn't a big fan of self pitying, but in this case he would wish that Blaine would allow himself at least just a little bit of it; he was most definitely entitled to it. But he didn't.

Kurt was forced out of his thoughts when Blaine suddenly moved, trying to get up himself by the help of his crutch - there was only one, since he couldn't really use his right arm at all again after the failed attempts of escaping anyway - but he wasn't doing a very good job. At last, he managed to get to his feet - foot, really – anyway, fumbling with the handle on the crutch to place it properly on his wrist.

"Where are you going?" Finn asked immediately as the other got up, not very subtile about not watching the game.

"I-um, I was just going to go upstairs - if you don't mind, of course – and, uh, g-get my meds.." his voice died out. It was weird, hearing Blaine talking like this, so insecure, so unsure as if to what he was saying was okay. It broke Kurt's heart.

Also because, even though nobody said so, they all knew that really he just wanted to get away from Kurt. But Kurt had changed his mind. He was not going to let him.

So when Finn quickly stood up, Kurt stopped him with a hand motion, and a "Don't worry, I've got it." He didn't miss the way Blaine's eyes widened or the way his jaw tightened, his whole body actually. Neither did he miss the way Blaine's thumb scratched even harder on his other hand, but he ignored it all, smiled, and proceeded to get up himself as Finn sat down. Blaine smiled back; forced and panic-stricken.

But Kurt still moved to his side, still ignoring the tension in the other's body, his fast breathing, as he helped him to the stairs.

It took quite a while to get upstairs, neither of them saying a word.

_Maybe it was a bad idea, _Kurt thought to himself. _Maybe _I'm _not ready_.

But even though, when they finally got up, he still helped him all the way to the room, _his _room, and onto the bed. Blaine coughed awkwardly as he discretely hid the stuffed dog that was lying, exposed on the sheet there, covering it with the blanket, but Kurt saw. He didn't comment on it.

"Well.. T-thank you, Kurt." Blaine's voice was small and fragile. Just the way he spoke indicated how badly the rape and everything else had affected him, his self-esteem. He was nothing like the confident prep school boy Kurt had met so long ago.

"Didn't you come here to get something?" Kurt asked, furrowing a brow as if he didn't know the real reason Blaine had went upstairs. He also knew that really, Blaine didn't take the meds when he could avoid it. He liked the pain, it made him feel real. "_I deserve it."_

"Wha-Oh. Right, the meds." Blaine grabbed the crutch again, but Kurt quickly snatched it from, before he could stand up. "Don't even think about it," he said, and Blaine looked up at him, obviously confused. "You can barely walk, I'll get them for you."

Blaine nodded, and Kurt hurried out the room, leaving Blaine sitting on the bed, smiling anxiously, hands fidgeting.

He wasn't gone for that long, really. But when he came back, Blaine wasn't on the bed anymore, and retching noises were coming from the bathroom. Kurt sighed. He'd been so much better today, he'd even eaten some breakfast, but that was coming up again now, too.

He walked into the connected bathroom, heart breaking at the sight of Blaine, who was sitting on his knees in front of the toilet bowl, vomiting up the tiny amount of food that was left in his stomach, shaking violently. Kurt sat down beside him, as he stopped throwing up, patting his back comfortingly, but Blaine just tensed up again. Then Kurt noticed the tears that were glistening on Blaine's cheeks, flooding his eyes, even though the other had turned his head to hide them.

"What's wrong?" Kurt asked worriedly, wiping away a single tear. Blaine's laugh was unpleasant and sad. Not at all like the happy, cheerful one Kurt had gotten so used to, and he shivered.

"Everything."

Kurt embraced his tense body as he broke down, attempting to hold back the sobs as he tried saying something, failing.

"Y-you s-s-shouldn't even b-be here!" He finally managed to choke out, and Kurt felt his heart drop. "You s-shouldn't _want _to be h-here!"

"Of course I do, Blaine. Of course I want to help you, I care about you." His words were an attempt of soothing, but really they just made Blaine cry harder.

"You shouldn't! I hurt you so badly! You should _hate me_, you should feel just as disgusted with me as I do-"

"Stop it, Blaine!" Blaine hiccuped and stopped mid-sob at Kurt's words. No, more his voice. He'd raised it, he almost sounded _mad._ Kurt never raised his voice. "You stop that _right now!_"  
He grabbed the surprised boy by his shoulders, holding him out in an arms length so he could look him in the eyes as he spoke.

"Yes, you hurt me! But I still care! No buts! And you're hurt, too! You're hurting much more than I do, and you - you distancing me is _killing me_. I _want _to help. I know mine is the only touch you actually feel comfortable with whenever you let yourself, s-so stop keeping yourself from getting that relief! I can help you! Stop _punishing_ yourself!"

Blaine's eyes were widened and glassy when Kurt stopped speaking, gulping in a large amount of air after the exhausting sentence, just staring at the boy, no, the _man_, before him.

"Please help me," he then said, almost a whisper, voice tiny and fragile, as he fell apart into Kurt's arms. But it wasn't unwillingly, reluctantly, this was because he _needed _Kurt. And he finally let himself accept the comfort that he was offered. Consciously.

They sat together like that for a long time, Blaine crying silently into Kurt's chest, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Maybe it was.

At some point, Blaine's sobs subsided, and soon Kurt could feel his breathing turn deeper, heavier, and realized that Blaine had fallen asleep on him.

Carefully, he lifted the sleeping boy in his arms, which was way too easy, way too light, and carried him into the bed in the bedroom. He tried putting him down, leaving him there, but Blaine wouldn't unlink his arms around Kurt's neck, so instead he wound up lying with the heavily sleeping teenager cuddled up into his chest, smelling him, nuzzling his cold nose into Kurt's shirt. _He always was a cuddler._

Several times, Kurt tried getting up, but Blaine held on to him like an octopus, whimpering when he moved, and at last he gave up, closing his eyes himself. He felt a single tear leave his eye, landing on the pillow under his head.

Lying like this, it was easy to forget everything. What Blaine did, what happened to him, what happened to them. It almost didn't matter. Right now, Blaine felt safe, and Kurt felt happier than he had in weeks. He hadn't forgiven Blaine, but in that moment, it didn't matter.

* * *

"Shh, it's okay Blaine, it's okay." Kurt's soothing voice filled the room, filled Blaine's ears, but it wasn't enough. Neither was their closeness, even though it helped. The remnants of the dream still lingered. "You're not there."

Kurt was, once again, in his old room, sitting on the bed in the middle of the night, calming Blaine from yet another nightmare. They weren't as frequent as they were the first week, but that just made the effect of them even worse when they occurred.

It had been three weeks since thanksgiving, three long, exhausting weeks. But Blaine was progressing.

Ever since he'd started to accept Kurt's comfort, everything had gotten easier. He _wanted _to get better. Some days, at least. But withdrawal was still lingering, though the symptoms should mostly have been over with by now. The doctors said that it had something to do with Blaine's physical condition, which was not the best. He was eating more, he wasn't sick all the time, but he was still terribly skinny. You were still able to count his ribs, collarbones way too visible and such, but he _was _getting better physically.

Blaine didn't really leave the house for anything else than doctors appointments, therapy sessions and rehabilitation for his arm and leg, but whenever someone mentioned going to school, the mall even the _library_, Blaine would shut down completely, not saying a word until they changed the subject.

Truth be told, he was _terrified _of the outside world. The therapist and doctors had said that it really shouldn't be this bad, but for some reason it was. Blaine still _loathed _himself, even though he acted like he didn't. He still felt so disgusted with himself, he still felt like it was all his fault, and because of that, he wouldn't tell anyone the name of the man who raped him. Not even how he looked. Nothing.

It was both because Blaine really just wanted to forget, talking about it, _thinking_ about it litterally made him sick, but also because he felt like Jeremy didn't deserve to get arrested. Blaine _asked _for it. He was the tease. It was his own fault, and Jeremy shouldn't have to pay for that.

So whenever someone tried getting him to talk about it, he would use the same method as to when someone suggested that he'd come shopping with them, he ignored them. It was childish, Blaine knew, and stupid to just ignore your problems like that, but he knew that if he actually _tried _saying something, he either wouldn't be able to or would break down completely.

He was broken.

The backyard he spend the most of his time in, and he'd even tried going with Carole to the park at one point, but when he'd gotten out of the car, a runner accidentally bumped into him before apologizing quickly and running on, but it had scared Blaine, shaken him to his bones, and he'd spent the rest of the day in his room, staring at the ceiling.

The only place he _really _felt safe, was with Kurt.

He still felt like the other should hate him because of what he did, but he was grateful that he didn't. Kurt was helping him. Even if they weren't together, even if it hurt being reminded of his failure by not being able to kiss Kurt when he wanted to, which was pretty much all the time, it was amazing to have him there. Kurt was the only person who he'd trusted completely since day one for some reason, who'd never let him down. Kurt had always been there. He'd told Kurt everything, and Kurt had accepted him. Kurt had loved him. _Past tense._

Get it out of your head, Blaine, you have more important things to worry about. He's not ready. He'll probably never want to be with you after this, anyway.

So Blaine had started opening up. Kurt was listening, always. It was even better than that therapist, she actually didn't help much. Blaine felt that if he wanted to get better, he had to do it himself. This was his fight to fight, not some random woman in an office. But even though, it was nice to able to talk to Kurt about everything, sometimes.

But still, the social caveman thing was his biggest problem. Of course, he'd probably always have traumas from this, but it should't be like this. He shouldn't be afraid of _everything _and _everyone._

But he was. And the doctors and therapists telling him that it was normal after what he'd had been through, just wasn't enough. He was in his senior year, he wanted to get better, he _needed _to get better, and fast.

The contact thing _had _improved, though. He could easily touch everyone in the Hudmel house, but outside was just different. They could all be like Jeremy, the waves and smiles, all just an act. They could all betray him.

Kurt closed his eyes, holding tighter around the other body, concentrating hard not to begin crying himself. Seeing the dapper, handsome, _happy _boy that he'd always known like this, it was hard.

When Blaine finally calmed, coughing awkwardly as he came to his senses, he pulled away, and Kurt studied his expression, but got nothing out of it. Blaine's head was filled with thoughts and wonderings that Kurt would never get to see. So he just squeezed the other's hand, slowly seating himself in the chair beside the bed as Blaine sat up, back against the wall, head tilted back and eyes closed.

"You can't stay here, Kurt," he finally spoke, and Kurt sighed. He'd known that this was coming. Even his father had told him the same thing.

"Blaine, you're not yourself right now," he said, knowing that it wasn't fair to blame it on Blaine's usual vulnerable state after a nightmare. "I told you, I _like _helping you, I-I can't just-"

"No, I-I know you do, but you can't stay." It looked as if it was hard for Blaine to say the words, but he meant it. He really did. "And I'm fine, this is not the crazy person speaking. Well.. You know what I mean. Y-you can't stayhere_. _This is _Lima, _Kurt. It's everything you wanted to get away from, follow your dreams, and now you're stuck here again. Because of me. I-I c-can't keep you here-"

"You're not! Well, you are, but, you know I want to, you're not a-"

"Please don't say I'm not a bother. Please don't lie to me." Blaine wasn't searching for sympathy with his words, just truth, so Kurt didn't finish his sentence. It was true. Blaine was a lot of work, exhausting, but he was worth it, too.

"It can be.._difficult_, yes, but we care, Blaine. _I _care! I wan't to stay here, I want to keep on helping you, I'm you're safe haven, you said that yourself-"

"Kurt."

Blaine's voice was calm yet slightly trembling, but decisively. "You're life is in New York. I-I'll be fine. But this takes time, way more time than I thought it would. You can't stay forever."

Kurt opened his mouth to say something, but Blaine was quicker.

"Please, Kurt. Knowing that you're having a great time in New York.._ That _would help me. Please just think about it."

Kurt left with a pondering, hurt, and most of all uncertain expression.

It wasn't true. Kurt leaving _wouldn't _help Blaine, but he couldn't keep Kurt here, he couldn't be that selfish. This took time, and Kurt needed to live his life, he needed to move on from this, like Blaine hopefully would at some point, too. But for now, he needed Kurt to.

But when the morning came, and Blaine was awoken by Cooper, Kurt missing from his side where he'd usually fall asleep after calming Blaine from a nightmare, he refused to get up and say goodbye. Childish, again, but he couldn't do it. He would probably just break down and try and convince Kurt to stay anyway, who wouldn't hesitate to do so.

* * *

"You need to go soon, too," Blaine said silently one morning, not lifting his eyes from the bowl of cereal in front of him. Cooper sighed, studying Blaine who still didn't meet his gaze.

"I can't," he simply said, but Blaine knew that he could. He had to.

So one morning, Cooper left, too. This time Blaine said goodbye. Cooper was going to _Europe, _he'd be gone for a long time,he couldn't just let him go without a goodbye. And he did break down, he did hug Cooper for way too long, he did end up _begging _Cooper to stay, who just shook his head silently with tears in his eyes. Blaine had made him promise the day before that no matter what, he wouldn't stop from leaving. No matter what Blaine said.

* * *

Everything began turning grey again. With both Cooper and Kurt gone, Blaine didn't know where to put himself. Carole and Burt were like the parents he never had, loving him and caring for him, but they weren't Kurt. He called him every now and then, talking to him about New York, Nyada, Rachel, but never about how Blaine was doing. For one, he didn't want to talk about it. Secondly, he already knew that Kurt got daily reports from Burt even though they didn't tell him, so it wasn't really necessary.

Blaine knew he had to do something. It had been five weeks, five long weeks, and his depression was kicking in again. He had to get out into the world again.

At first he took baby steps. Like, sitting in the waiting room in the hospital or at the therapists office with other people, instead of waiting in the car until it was his turn, or looking people in the eye when he was talking to them, but after a little while, it developed to bigger things. Like going to the park, shopping for groceries or going to a movie with Finn. Only during day, when the sun was up, though. He didn't leave the house when the sun had set. The dark terrified him.

Slowly, it got better. About two weeks later, he could walk the streets alone without tensing up much, daytime, of course, or even go to the store by himself, things like that. Everything was less grey. Kurt could even hear his voice changing when they talked.

To put it simply; he was getting better.

* * *

**There you go! Hope you liked it! Also, it's not finished yet, if you thought so. I will write 'The End' when it is, or something.**


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